The Letter
by Cassandra's Cross
Summary: COMPLETE! Harry is so focused on his career that family life suffers until an escape from Azkaban places his loved ones in mortal peril. Romance, mystery & dramatic plot twists combine for an unforgettable adventure. Now partly SU after recent revelations
1. Chapter 1

**THE LETTER**

**By Cassandra's Cross**

_**Synopsis:**__ Harry is so consumed with his career as an Auror that he loses touch with Ginny and their children until a letter arrives to help him remember what really matters. But is something sinister waiting out there to take it all away? An escape from Azkaban, the first in twenty years, stirs up Harry's worst fears from the past as those he loves are threatened. Set one year before the Deathly Hallows epilogue (2016)._

_**Edited January 2008:**__ Mostly canon compliant, though now partially SU (Sensible Universe) after recent revelations. All reviews receive responses. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ I am not J K Rowling and I do not own these characters. I wish I did!_

* * *

Harry crossed the threshold of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place on a Friday evening in midsummer. It was a very different house now, its cheerful fires, comfortable furniture, and overall warmth giving evidence that a normal family lived there, or at least as normal as a family of witches and wizards could ever be. Gone were the House-Elf heads and accoutrements of Dark Magic that once filled the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, including the portrait of Sirius' mother. To everyone's surprise, Kreacher had proved capable of removing the permanent sticking charm after Ginny suggested that Mrs. Black would be happier away from the bustle and noise of the main house. Walburga Black's portrait had been moved to the attic where Kreacher lived quite happily among other Black family heirlooms. Instead of cobwebs in dark, dusty corners, Grimmauld Place was now airy and light, and filled with the sounds of children. Different sized broomsticks were crammed into an umbrella stand near the door, and the halls were strewn with Quidditch gear, Exploding Snap cards, and the occasional teddy bear. 

Only Kreacher himself was unchanged. The same tufts of white hair sprouted from his bat-like ears, his skin still hung in folds about his wizened face, and he sounded as much like a bullfrog as ever as he croaked out a greeting.

"Good evening, Master Harry," said the old elf with a low bow. "Mistress is upstairs, changing for dinner."

"Thanks, Kreacher. And the children?"

"In the back garden, Master. With _Winky_."

Harry heard the censure in Kreacher's voice and braced himself. Sure enough, the old elf began muttering to himself as he shuffled toward the kitchen: _". . . not fit to watch over my Master's children . . . wearing clothes like a common goblin and drinking on the sly . . . poor old Kreacher, what can he do?"_

Harry knew better than to take Kreacher's muttering seriously. They had taken Winky in out of loyalty to Dobby and she had proven an able nursemaid, for despite Kreacher's suspicions, no one had ever actually caught her drinking. It wasn't a weakness for butterbeer, however, that inspired Kreacher's enmity, but the fact that Winky was free, which made her, in Kreacher's estimation, an inferior servant. Winky still refused to accept wages and insisted upon calling Harry and Ginny "Master" and "Mistress" (to Hermione's annoyance) but Kreacher rarely lost an opportunity to remind Winky that _he, _at least, had never suffered the indignity of wearing clothes. The two were constantly at loggerheads, and Ginny was at pains to keep peace between them whenever she wasn't too busy preventing the children from killing one another.

Harry climbed the stairs and opened the door to the Master Suite where Ginny sat at a dressing table in a soft robe, brushing her long, red hair by the light of a flickering lantern. On the wall just above her was a large, framed photograph in which a radiant Ginny, wearing a long, white dress with Aunt Muriel's tiara nearly eclipsed by her own vibrant hair, smiled up at her new husband. In one hand she clutched a bouquet of spring flowers while Harry, wearing green dress robes and a look of glowing happiness, raised the other to his lips. To Harry's left, Ron grinned at Hermione who gazed back at him in a gown of pale green satin, her new diamond engagement ring glinting in the sunlight. On Ginny's other side was Neville, tugging nervously at the collar of his dress robes, while next to him Luna stared vacantly toward the horizon, wearing a pale yellow gown that combined with her blonde hair to make her an altogether buttery sight. It amazed Harry how little Ginny had changed since then. He had already found a few gray hairs, but Ginny was as youthful and slender as ever, despite three children and fourteen years of marriage.

"Harry!" said Ginny, interrupting his reverie as she spotted his reflection in the mirror. "You didn't forget! I was sure I'd end up entertaining our guests alone again."

"Er. . . "Harry said, as she threw her arms around him and lifted her face for his kiss. "Guests?"

"Ron and Hermione! They're coming for dinner tonight. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, sure," said Harry, as memory came flooding back. "Of course I remembered."

"No, you didn't," said Ginny, exasperated. "How come you're home on time then, if you forgot?"

"A meeting was cancelled," Harry confessed. "Actually, I was looking forward to a quiet night."

"Good luck with that," Ginny said dryly. "They're bringing the children. And even if they weren't, Ron and Hermione all by themselves aren't exactly restful company."

"Oh, well," said Harry. "It's always good to see them, and Rose and Hugo get on well with our lot."

"Are you sure you're up to it?" Ginny said as Harry removed his shoes and slipped his Auror robes over his head. "You look tired, Harry."

"I'm fine," Harry insisted. "I'll just lie down for a bit before dinner."

He stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. A minute later, he felt the springs give way as Ginny sat down. "Maybe I could do something to help you relax."

His eyes flashed open and he grinned at her. "What did you have in mind?"

"A back rub, you prat! Anyway, I thought you were tired."

"I'm never _that_ tired, love."

"Let's stick with a massage, shall we?" said Ginny. "For now anyway. Come on, roll over."

Harry did as she asked and sighed as her strong hands worked out all the tension in his neck and shoulders. "You have great hands," he murmured contentedly. "Have I ever told you?"

"Many times. Although usually not in this context." Harry smiled as she dug her fingers into a particularly tight muscle. "You work too hard," she said. "And these ridiculous hours you've been putting in lately can't be good for you."

"I'm Head of the Auror Department, Gin. It isn't a nine-to-five job."

"We hardly ever see you anymore. I feel like a widow sometimes."

"Don't you think you're exaggerating, just a little?"

"Not really, no. We miss you, Harry. The children miss their father. I miss my husband."

Harry sighed again and rolled over to face her. "It's just that there's so much going on right now, Ginny. Maybe when things slow down a little. . ."

"You've been saying that for at least a year. A year of twelve hour days, six or even seven days a week. I know your work is important, but what about us? Aren't _we_ important too?"

Harry forced down a rising tide of irritation. Of course they were important! How could she even ask that? Ginny was life itself to him, her and the family they had made together. But he was Harry Potter, the man from whom everyone expected superhuman achievements, and there were always those who would delight in seeing him topple from his pedestal. Part of him understood Ginny's resentment. Part of him even agreed with it. Hadn't he already given enough to the wizarding world? Must he be buried alive beneath an avalanche of other people's expectations? But why couldn't _she_ understand how important his job was? Why couldn't she understand that his family was the main reason he pushed himself so hard? It was all about keeping them safe, didn't she realize that? It was about protecting them from whatever was waiting in the shadows. The wizarding world had been at peace for many years, but experience had taught Harry that something always lurked at the edge of happiness, and so he remained watchful, wary, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But Ginny was beside him now and even after so many years together she could still take his breath away. The scent of her filled his nostrils, and her skin felt like silk as his lips moved from her neck to her shoulder to the smooth, clean line of her collarbone.

"Harry," she said, a little breathlessly, "this probably isn't a good idea."

"I don't know about you," said Harry, as his hands slid beneath her robe, "but it's the best idea I've had all day."

"Ron and Hermione will be here in less than an hour. . ."

"That's ages and ages. . ."

"You still have to shower. . ."

"Five minutes."

"And dress," she added, closing her eyes.

"Another five minutes."

She made another feeble protest, though the effect was diminished by the fact that she was unbuttoning his shirt. Things were progressing nicely until the sound of pounding footsteps made them break apart. Ginny had just snatched the edges of her robe together when their oldest son catapulted into the room as though flung from a slingshot.

"Can't you knock?" asked Harry, cursing himself for forgetting to lock the door.

"Sorry," said James. He took in his parents' ruffled appearance with a grimace of disgust. "Why do you have to do stuff like that in public anyway?"

As they weren't exactly in the middle of Trafalgar Square, Harry didn't take this very well. He glared at his son. "What _is _it, James?"

"There was an owl," James said, brandishing an envelope. "I think it's my Hogwarts letter!"

Harry took the envelope from him and turned it over. On the back was the Hogwarts seal with the familiar badger, eagle, snake, and lion symbols. On the front, in green ink, it was addressed to:

_Mr. James Sirius Potter_

Harry handed the envelope back to James. "Why don't you open it?"

"Really?" said James. "Can I?"

"It's addressed to you, isn't it?"

James broke the seal and extracted several sheets of paper. Harry felt a strange sense of dejà vu as he read over his son's shoulder:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT & WIZARDRY_

_Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall_

_Dear Mr. Potter:_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Professor Filius Flitwick, __Deputy Headmaster_

James looked up with shining eyes. "I'm going to Hogwarts! Mum, Dad, I'm really going!"

"Yes," Harry said dryly. "We worked that out, funnily enough."

"Well done, James," said Ginny, enveloping him in a hug. "Well, this is a great day for the Potters!"

Harry barely heard her. It was too soon, he was thinking. It's much too soon! James couldn't be old enough to go away to school already. Surely he himself had not been half so young when his own letter came. He stared at James, seeming to see him, really see him, for the first time in ages. When had the baby roundness left his face? When had he grown so much taller? When had his voice acquired the first tell-tale croaks of pre-adolescence? Harry wondered how he could have missed it. How could he have missed the fact that his own son was growing up before his very eyes? And if he had missed all this, what else had he missed? I must be slipping, Harry thought. Or maybe I'm just growing old.

"Wow," James was saying. "I mean, I knew it was coming, but. . . I'm really going, aren't I?"

"You really are," Ginny agreed. "You'll be in the last year of students attending Hogwarts before Professor McGonagall retires. She was our Head of House, you know, and she's been a great headmistress ever since . . . well, ever since the war ended."

"Teddy says she's really strict," said James.

"Strict, but fair," said Ginny. "But she _is_ strict, so mind you behave yourself, young man!"

"Like you and Dad did, you mean?" said James, his eyes dancing with merriment.

"You've been talking to your Uncle Ron again, haven't you?" said Ginny, reaching out to tickle him. "Not to cast aspersions against my own brother, James, but you can't believe _everything_ he says."

"Hey," said James, as a thought occurred to him. "I have to get a wand! Mum, when can we go to Diagon Alley for my wand?"

"Soon," Ginny promised. "We need to get all your books and have you measured for school robes. And of course stop at Ollivander's. Perhaps your father could take time off to go with us? After all, it's not every day our oldest son selects a wand, is it, Harry?"

"No," Harry replied absently. "Although it's really the wand that selects the wizard. . ."

Ginny gave him an odd look. He pulled himself together and said, "Of course I'll take time off. We'll make a day of it, the whole family. What do you say, James?"

"Cool!" said James. "I want to show my letter to Al and Lily. See you later!"

"Wants to rub it in, more like," Ginny laughed when he had gone. "Harry, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Harry said. "I'm happy for James, that's all."

"I can tell. If you were any happier, you'd be crying your eyes out."

Harry smiled. He couldn't hide anything from Ginny. "I don't know. It just seems so . . . sudden."

"Sudden?" Ginny laughed again. "He's eleven years old. We've been expecting this since he was born."

"I know. I guess it just hit me all of a sudden. It seems like only yesterday he was still a baby. Now he's off to Hogwarts. And next year, it'll be Albus . . ."

"And two years after that, Lily," Ginny concluded. "It's what I've been trying to tell you, Harry. They grow up so fast."

"They do, don't they?" He fell silent for a moment. "You know, it's funny. Just before he burst through the door, I was thinking about our wedding."

"That _is_ funny. Judging by your actions, I would have guessed our wedding night."

Harry laughed, but it turned into a sigh. "It doesn't seem all that long ago we were just married. And now James is going to Hogwarts."

Ginny put her arms around him. "You still have me, you know. You'll always have me."

"I know, love," said Harry. "And you have me."

Ginny's smile wavered. "Do I, Harry?" she said quietly. "Do I really?"

* * *

**A/N:**_ Review please! It is the only payment fanfic writers receive, and even if it's just a word or two, at least it lets me know you were here._


	2. Chapter 2

**The Letter**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter . . . unfortunately!_

Chapter Two

Ron and Hermione were thrilled with the news. "He'll be in Gryffindor, of course," Ron said, tucking in to roast beef and mashed potatoes while congratulations went around the table.

"We don't know that, Ron," Hermione said. "He could be in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff . . ."

"And pigs might fly," said Ron. "With both parents and all four grandparents in Gryffindor? Where else could he be?"

"It doesn't always go according to family," Hermione pointed out. "Bill's eldest, Victoire, is in Ravenclaw."

Ron scoffed. "That's just because he married a foreigner."

"What about Percy?" asked Ginny. "One of his kids is in Hufflepuff."

"Well, that's Percy, isn't it?" said Ron. "To tell the truth, I've never been entirely sure Percy is a Weasley. Always thought he had sort of a changeling look about him."

"Ron!" said Hermione, who was struggling not to smile.

"Oh, well," Ron said. "As long as you're not in Slytherin, James. As your godfather and uncle, I forbid it. No nephew of mine is going to end up in Slytherin!"

"What if one of your own children ends up there?" Ginny taunted.

Ron looked horrified. "A Weasley, in Slytherin? Never!"

"Honestly, Ron, not _everyone_ from Slytherin turns out badly," Ginny said, with a glance at her second son.

"And Gryffindor has produced its own share of Dark Wizards," said Harry. "Remember Wormtail? And let's not forget Cormac McLaggen."

"Wish I could," said Ron, looking darkly at Hermione whose face, for some reason, had gone red. "What was it you arrested him for, Harry? Selling illegal potions in Knockturn Alley, wasn''t it?"

"Something like that," said Harry. "Besides, I still owed him for knocking me out in that Quidditch match against Hufflepuff."

Rose, who had been listening with bright interest, piped up, "I won't let the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin, Dad. I'll tell it I want to be in Gryffindor!"

"That's my girl, Rosie," said Ron, reaching across the table to ruffle his daughter's bushy hair.

The younger children were all exchanging nervous looks, so Ginny decided to change the subject. "Harry's coming with us to Diagon Alley next week to get James' school things. Any chance of meeting you and George for lunch, Ron?"

"I'll have to see what's going on at the shop," said Ron. "We've really been busy. We're branching out again, you know."

"Again?" Harry said. "With two branches in England, one in Scotland, one in Wales, and another in Dublin? What's next?"

"France!" said Ron. "Fleur's put us in touch with relatives of hers who do business in the village just outside _Beauxbatons_. I reckon the French could really use a laugh, so we'll open a branch there and see what happens."

"Euro-Weasley," said Harry. "I'm impressed!"

"I impress myself sometimes," Ron admitted. "I'd open a branch near _Durmstrang_, too, if anyone could find it."

Hugo, who had Ron's red hair and Hermione's slightly prominent front teeth, murmured to Lily, "Our dad is very clever, you know!"

Ginny exchanged an amused look with Harry while Hermione beamed at Ron as though she quite agreed with their son. But Harry couldn't help wondering if any of his children would have said the same of him. To tell the truth, he wasn't sure they really knew what he did for a living. The work of an Auror was so shrouded in secrecy that Harry wasn't at liberty to discuss many aspects of his job at home. Not that he'd _been_ home much lately, as Ginny was so fond of pointing out. He felt resentful again, but guilty too. Maybe he had been neglectful, but damn it all, he was doing the best he could!

"If you've finished your pudding, you can all go to the nursery," Ginny told the children. None of them needed to be asked twice and scattered while the adults moved to the sitting room.

"That was a lovely dinner, Ginny," Hermione said, as Harry poured brandy into balloon glasses.

"I'd love to take credit for it, but it was mostly Kreacher's doing," Ginny replied. "He still rules the kitchen, not that I mind. If it wasn't for him and Winky, I'd never find time to write my column."

"I understand your old Quidditch team is doing quite well," said Hermione, who read Ginny's column in the _Daily Prophet_ faithfully each week, even though she didn't understand it half the time.

"They're favored to win the league," Ron said. "Although once the Chudley Canons pull out of their slump. . ."

"Two hundred years at the bottom of the standings isn't a slump, Ron," said Ginny. "It's an indictment!"

"Just because you played Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies for a few years doesn't make you an expert on every other team," Ron said irritably.

"Maybe not, but even if I didn't know one end of a broom from another, I'd still know better than to back the Canons," Ginny chided. "Give it up, Ron, they have as much chance of winning anything as _I _have of becoming Minister for Magic!"

Hermione, who had already downed most of her brandy, said, "You can just leave that to your husband, can't you?"

"_Don't_, Hermione," said Harry.

"Oh, come on, Harry," Hermione said. "You've heard the same rumors I have. Kingsley Shacklebolt is getting ready to retire and everyone has been saying. . ."

"Excuse me," Ginny interrupted. "_What_ has everyone been saying?"

"I don't know that Kinglsey has any plans to retire and neither do you," Harry said to Hermione. "It's like you said, Hermione, it's a rumor."

"Rumors frequently have a basis in fact," said Hermione. "He'll have to step down eventually, and when he does, you're sure to be tapped as the next Minister."

Ginny looked from Harry to Hermione and then to Ron. "I suppose you knew about this too?" she asked.

Ron squirmed uncomfortably. "We'll, he's a logical choice, isn't he? I mean, come on, he's Harry Potter."

"I see." Ginny stared at Harry, who had slumped so low in his chair he was practically horizontal. "And when did you plan to tell _Mrs._ Potter about this?"

"Ginny," Harry said, rather feebly it seemed to him. "Nothing's been decided yet."

"_Yet_? You mean you've already _discussed_ this? Someone has already _approached_ you?"

Hermione's face had gone crimson. "Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ."

"Don't apologize, Hermione," said Ginny. "If it wasn't for you, I'd probably have to read about it in the newspapers."

"Ginny," said Harry, "I haven't agreed to anything. I don't even know if I'm interested, to tell the truth. As you well know, I have quite enough to be going on with as it is, and I . . . well, there didn't seem to be any point in bringing it up until things were a little clearer in my own mind."

"You've obviously discussed it with Hermione, though, haven't you?" Ginny said. "And Ron. Always Ron. Well, this is just like it was during the war, isn't it? The three of you decide everything together and then off you go on your adventures while little Ginny stops at home. . . "

"Ginny!" said Hermione. "It isn't like that at all! I work for the Ministry, too. I'm in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it's only natural I'd hear about it, and I just happened to mention it to Ron. . ."

"You mentioned it to Ron?" Ginny gave a harsh laugh. "What a novel concept, talking to one's spouse!"

"Ginny," said Harry, reaching for her hand, but she snatched it away.

"I'm going to check on the children," she said shortly, and swept from the room before anyone could stop her.

There was an awkward silence. Then Ron said, "I think that went really well, don't you?"

Hermione turned to Harry. "I am _so_ sorry! This is all my fault."

"No, it isn't," said Harry.

"Yes, it is. Oh, _why_ did you let me drink this stuff?" she said, shoving her balloon glass at Ron. "You _know _I can't handle anything stronger than sherry!"

"Can't drink to save her life," Ron explained. "She's rubbish at it. You should have seen her on our honeymoon after a couple of firewhiskies. Ah, well. No point wasting it, is there?" And he downed the last of Hermione's brandy in one.

"It's not your fault," Harry assured her. "_I'm_ the one who mucked things up this time."

"Ginny'll be all right once she's had a chance to calm down," Ron said. "You know the Weasley temper: a quick flash in the pan, and then it's all over."

"I don't know, Ron," said Harry. "This has been coming on for awhile. She's been after me for months to cut back at work and spend more time with her and the kids. And she's right, you know? We used to talk about everything all the time, but for the past year I've been so busy I just never seem to get around to it."

"You've had a run of bad luck lately," Hermione said. "You've lost so many of your best people: two transferred, two retired, one on maternity leave, and that poor man who ended up in St. Mungo's. . . has anyone found out yet what sort of curse he was hit with?"

"No," said Harry. "And even if they do, he'll never be completely fit again." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I can't believe I ever even considered standing for Minister after the pig's ear I've made of everything."

"Harry, that's not true," Hermione said. "You've been a wonderful head of department. Everyone at the Ministry says so."

"Yes, but I haven't much of a husband or father, have I?"

Hermione looked stricken. She glanced from Harry to Ron and said, "I . . . I should go after Ginny."

"I told you, Hermione, it's not your fault."

"It might help to talk things out with another woman. I'll just. . ." And Hermione scurried from the room, leaving Ron and Harry alone.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, mate," said Ron. "She'll come around."

"But she's right, Ron," Harry said. "It finally hit me tonight when James showed us his letter from Hogwarts. In three years, they'll all be away at school and then it'll be too late."

"Too late for what?"

"To know them. For them to know me. In a few more years, we won't be the center of their universe anymore. You remember what it was like when we were at school. Our housemates were our family, the castle was our home. It was for me, anyway. Might have been different for you. You had a family to go home to."

"So did you. And it was the same family, in case you've forgotten. But I know what you mean. Every time I think about Rosie going off to Hogwarts next year, I feel all. . .soppy." Ron blinked a few times. "But James isn't going away forever. He'll be home for Christmas, Easter, and summer holidays. And it's not the way it was when you and I were there. At least there are no Dark Wizards trying to kill him."

"None that we know about anyway," Harry said under his breath.

"Come on, Harry. Now you're just being paranoid."

"Maybe so," Harry sighed. "You know, he asked me about that once. James, I mean. He wanted to know what really happened. He'd read something in a book, I suppose, or overhead someone talking about it."

"Blimey!" Ron looked horrified. "What'd you tell him?"

Harry shook his head. "I didn't know what to tell him, to be honest. I gave him some song and dance about waiting until he was old enough to understand. But he's bound to hear things at school. After all, it's part of the Defense Against the Dark Arts syllabus now."

"And let's not forget, your picture's on the chocolate frog cards!"

"So's yours."

"Ah, yes," said Ron with a dreamy smile. "My finest hour!"

Harry laughed, but it faded to a sigh. "I've just got to do it, that's all. I'll figure a way to explain everything before he hears it second-hand. He has a right to hear it from me. They all do. I'm their father, after all."

"Well, when you've got it worked out, can I borrow your notes? I'll use them when _I_ talk to Rose and Hugo."

"Done!" Harry grinned. "And I am going to find a way to spend more time with Ginny and the kids. I don't know how, but I will."

"You need to learn to delegate, Harry," said Ron. "You always were rubbish at that. You don't have to do everything yourself, you know."

"I know," Harry said. "It's just hard to know who to trust. People treat you differently when you're the boss. They say whatever they think you want to hear and then run their own agenda when your back is turned."

"Ted Lupin's started Auror training, hasn't he?" asked Ron. "He's trustworthy."

"Well, yes, but he's _very _junior. He'll need a lot more experience before he can be much help." Harry glanced at Ron from the corner of one eye. "I don't suppose _you'd_ consider coming back into the fold, would you?"

Ron laughed uneasily. "I'm your brother-in-law. Might look like nepotism."

"I was only joking," Harry said. "I know better. I mean, come on, a tycoon like you? Why would you?"

Ron relaxed a little. "I was never any great shakes as an Auror anyway. Even _you_ have to admit that, Harry."

"I admit nothing," Harry replied. "We revolutionized the Auror Department after Kingsley took over as Minister. It was you and me together, Ron. It was never just me."

"It was fun when we were starting out," Ron admitted. "Once we had everything up and running, though, I dunno, I guess the thrill went out of it or something. And then George needed help with the shop. He still wasn't coping with the . . . the whole Fred thing back then and . . . Well, he turned it around after he married Katie, but at the time it seemed like the right thing to do. And you have to admit, it worked out pretty well for me. I'm not sorry I did it, Harry, but I _am_ sorry for leaving you in the lurch." Ron ducked his head, his ears reddening. "Don't know if I ever told you that. Better late than never, right?"

It was an awkward moment. They'd had a huge row when Ron left the Ministry and Harry knew it had been mostly his fault. He had accused Ron of treachery and desertion, among other choice epithets, and followed this up by refusing to speak to his best friend for several months. It had taken the combined efforts of Ginny and Hermione to convince him that Ron needed a place to shine on his own, away from the long shadow Harry had always cast, in order for their friendship to survive. As was usually the case, Hermione and Ginny had been right. The divergent paths had made their friendship stronger, and Ron really did seem to have found his niche. The joke shop had been on the verge of going under when Ron stepped in, but his marketing ideas had turned everything around and he had amassed a fortune in the process. Harry wouldn't have been at all surprised to learn that Ron now had more gold in _his_ Gringotts vault than Harry had in his own.

"You didn't leave me in the lurch, Ron," Harry said. "You did what you had to do, and I'm glad it all worked out for you. I can't say I don't still miss you, though."

Ron smiled. "Me too, mate. But it's not like we don't still see each other all the time, is it?"

It was true, Harry thought. Ron was always popping into his office at the Ministry, and Harry stopped by the joke shop whenever he was in Diagon Alley, which was often. He probably saw Ron as much, if not more, than he saw his wife and children. Guilt flooded him again as Ginny's voice echoed in his head: _"Ron. . . always Ron!"_ Okay, Harry thought, I get the message! No need to rub it in!

Hermione and Ginny returned to the sitting room arm-in-arm, and, as Ron had predicted, Ginny had calmed down. She apologized for her outburst, Harry apologized for everything he'd done wrong since the day they met, and everyone settled down for more brandy and conversation. But Harry's mind kept wandering. He thought of his children, these miracles that had arisen from the joining of his flesh with Ginny's. Who were they, these progeny of his, this fruit of his loins? Did he really even know James, or Al, or Lily for that matter?

Each of them was so very different, even in appearance. Al looked most like Harry. He had the same thin face, the same green eyes, the same untidy black hair that stuck up in back; he even had Harry's knobbly knees. The boy lacked only a scar, and considering how _that_ came about, Harry was profoundly grateful for the distinction. Lily, on the other hand, was a stamped out miniature of her mother: red-haired and freckled with bright brown eyes that melted Harry's heart every time he looked at her. As for James. . . well, James was his own strange self. Ron had once expressed the opinion that James looked like Neville Longbottom, which earned him a "_Ron!_" from Hermione and a swat across the head from his sister. Actually, James looked like both of his parents, but neither in particular. His hair was dark brown, but with reddish highlights like Ginny's, and his eyes, though almond-shaped like Harry's, were as blue as Ron's. He hadn't inherited the tall, lanky Weasley frame, but was shaping up to be short and muscular like Charlie and George. And Fred of course. . . there was a lot in James that reminded Harry of Fred.

It's too _soon_, Harry thought again. I haven't had time to teach him anything! He wasn't even sure if he knew everything fathers were supposed to teach their children, especially when it came to his sons. It was simpler somehow with Lily, who was alternately sweet and silly, kittenish and clever, dreamy and profoundly wise. Harry thought girls must be easier to raise, for he never had any trouble with his daughter. The boys, however, were something else again, and with them Harry felt at a disadvantage for never having known his own father. There had been Sirius, of course, and Remus Lupin, and his Uncle Vernon had at least taught him how to duck. But there had never been anyone to show him how to throw or kick a ball, or explain things about girls. . . Oh, now _there_ was a terrifying prospect! One day Harry would have to sit down with James and Al for the "talk" that fathers were supposed to have with their sons, and he had no idea how to go about it when the time came. The closest he had ever come himself was the mortifying occasion when Arthur Weasley took Harry into Ron's room and attempted to have the "talk" which Mrs. Weasley insisted upon once it became apparent that Harry had designs on their daughter. Harry had sat there, his face growing steadily hotter until he looked like a kettle at full boil while Mr. Weasley hemmed and hawed his way through a discussion that no young man ever wants to have with his girlfriend's father. He endured it by confining himself to saying, "Yes, sir," and "No, sir," at appropriate intervals until, at long last, he was released back into the wild with a head full of horrific images and a fervent desire to burn out his mind's eye.

Poor Arthur, Harry thought now. He had gone through that _six times_ . . .well, five really, as he probably did the twins together, and what a specter _that_ must have raised! Come to think of it, Al and James were only a year apart. Perhaps he could take both of them on at once and be done with it? No, that probably wouldn't work. Harry wasn't sure _why_ exactly, but he was pretty sure Ginny would expect him to talk to each of them separately. At least he didn't have to worry about Lily. She was _Ginny's_ problem, thank Merlin, and that was years into the future. What was Lily now, seven, eight? How old did girls have to be before boys started paying attention? Harry supposed it depended upon the girl, but Lily was very like her mother, and Ginny had attracted interest at a relatively early age. Okay, so maybe girls _weren't_ necessarily easier! Harry's head began to spin with nightmarish visions of his precious, only daughter in the clutches of some specky, scrawny git with nineteen hands, and Merlin only knew _what _kind of thoughts racing through his ferrety little mind. I'll kill him, Harry thought. I'll skin him alive! I'll hang him upside down by his toenails and then I'll. . .

Harry became aware that Ron was waving a hand in front of his face. "Harry?" Ron was saying. "You still with us?"

"Sorry," said Harry. "Must have drifted off for awhile there."

"You're falling asleep, aren't you?" Ginny said, then turned to Ron and Hermione. "He was exhausted when he got home tonight. I'm surprised he held up this long."

"We should go," said Hermione. "It's late. The children really should be in bed."

The children were extracted from the playroom. Amid the usual clatter of thanks and promises to get together again soon, everyone made their farewells, then Ron and Hermione, each carrying a child, stepped into the fireplace. As soon as they had disappeared in a burst of green flames, Ginny turned to her own offspring and said, "Bed!"

"Why don't you let me sort them out tonight, Ginny?" said Harry.

Ginny looked surprised. "I thought you were tired."

"I've got my second wind. I don't mind, really."

She gave him a suspicious look, but said, "Be my guest."

Harry took Lily by the hand and herded the boys up the stairs, stopping only long enough to settle an argument that escalated into a shoving match. He found a clean nightgown for Lily and left her to change while seeing to Al and James who were popping in and out of each other's rooms like hyperactive jack-in-the-boxes. A second shoving match ensued which Harry broke up by pinning both boys to the wall with a look he normally reserved for Death Eaters, and informing them that, unless the house caught fire or was actually under attack, he didn't want to hear another sound from either one until morning. At last he returned to Lily, who had put on her nightdress and was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Did you have a good time with your cousins?" Harry asked, as he tucked the blankets around her.

"Not really. Hugo kept calling me a _girl_, like it's something awful."

"What about Rose? She's a girl."

"All she ever does is read her silly books," Lily replied disparagingly. Harry grinned: Rose was Hermione's daughter, for sure! "It's _me_ the boys always tease," Lily went on. "They never pick on Rose. It's always me."

"Which boys? Your brothers?"

"All of them, really. It isn't fair!"

"Well, they should treat you with more respect," Harry said. "I can talk to them, if you like."

"No, Daddy," said Lily. "I can cope. I just don't think it's fair, that's all."

"No," Harry agreed. "It _isn't_ fair. But I'm glad you're coping." He kissed her forehead and both cheeks, then straightened up to turn out the light, but not before saying, "Stay away from boys – they're nothing but trouble!"

Ginny was waiting in the hall when he came out of Lily's room. "What are you smiling at?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "I really love you, you know."

"That's good. Because I really love you, too."

Some sort of revolution was underway. Ginny knew that much, but she wasn't going to spoil it by asking a lot of silly questions. Instead, she linked her arm through his, and said, "Come on, Harry. Let's go to bed."

_**A/N:** The action heats up in the next chapter with an escape from Azkban and Harry's worst fears are realized when danger stalks his children._


	3. Chapter 3

**The Letter**

_**Author's Note: **This chapter represents a dramatic change of pace from the previous two. To borrow a line from the late, great Bette Davis: "Fasten your seat belts. It's going to be a bumpy ride!"_

_**Disclaimer:** J K Rowling owns Harry Potter and I don't._

Chapter Three

Harry Apparated to the Ministry on Monday morning and stepped out of one of the marble fireplaces. He was just about to head for the lifts when a flash of blue caught his eye and he saw Ted Lupin standing in front of the black granite war memorial which now enjoyed pride of place in the Atrium. His hair, Harry observed, was a brilliant turquoise today, but there was a distant look in his sad gray eyes as he stared at the list of names on the giant obelisk which rose toward the enchanted ceiling in a graceful spire.

Harry had always loved this memorial. He had, in fact, been among those who had influenced the design and personally approved the words engraved on a plaque, set mid-way along the granite base:

_Dedicated to the Memory_

_Of the Many Brave Witches and Wizards_

_Who Gave Their Lives in Defense of Freedom_

_During the Battle of Hogwarts_

_And the Events Preceding It_

_Let Us Never Forget the Sacrifices_

_Of All Those Who Shone a Beacon of Light_

_In a Moment of Great Darkness_

_May the Light Never Go Out Again_

In the center of the obelisk was a sunburst that faded every few seconds to reveal the smiling faces of all those whose names were engraved below. One by one, light shone upon the faces of Colin Creevey, Cedric Diggory, Albus Dumbledore, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, Remus Lupin, Rufus Scrimgeour, Severus Snape, Ted Tonks, Fred Weasley, and others whose names were only names to Harry, though he honored all. He and Hermione had argued for the inclusion of non-humans who had fought and died as well, but in this they'd met with unbending resistance. A compromise of sorts was achieved with the erection of a smaller memorial which stood near the end of the Atrium and onto which the figures of a Goblin, a Centaur, a House-Elf, and a Giant that looked suspiciously like Hagrid's half-brother Grawp. Neither Harry nor Hermione had been truly satisfied, but at least the sacrifices of these magical creatures had been acknowledged, which was more than the wizarding community had done for them in living memory.

But it wasn't a House-Elf or Goblin that Teddy Lupin was staring at when Harry approached him, but the face of his father, Remus Lupin, who gazed out of the obelisk with the same thoughtful expression as the young man gazing up at him. Ted didn't notice Harry until a hand on his shoulder caused the younger man to jump.

"Harry!" he said. "Sorry, I . . . I guess I didn't see you."

"My fault," said Harry, smiling. "I, of all people, should know better than to sneak up on an Auror, shouldn't I? How are you, Ted?"

"I'm well, thank you. And you?"

"In really top form, thanks. How's the training coming? You just sat the written exam, didn't you?"

"Yeah!" Ted blew out a long breath. "I just hope I didn't bollocks it up too badly. N.E.W.T.s were a pleasant stroll through the park next to that."

Harry laughed. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. I have it on pretty good authority that you're one of the hardest working trainees in the program. Just focus on getting through the practical exam and I'm sure you won't have any problem."

Ted looked questioningly at Harry. "Are you. . . I mean, do you know. . .?"

"I'm not giving you anything official, mind," said Harry, who had already checked on Ted's exam scores and been delighted to learn that his godson had passed with flying colors. "I'm just offering some good general advice: focus on the practical. And that's all I'm going to say until the results are released which, if memory serves, ought to be sometime in the next day or two. All right?"

Ted nodded, but his face brightened and his hair changed to a more peaceful azure. Harry looked up again at the obelisk where Tonks's pixie face, framed by bubble-gum pink hair, grinned down at them.

"She would have been very proud of you," said Harry. "Your dad, too. They were great people, your parents, and your mum was an amazing Auror."

"I know," said Ted. "Gran talks about her all the time. Not about Dad so much, but between you and the Weasleys, I almost feel like I knew him."

"Speaking of the Weasleys," said Harry, narrowing his eyes, "I understand you've been spending quite a lot of time at Shell Cottage this summer."

Ted blushed. "Well, you know, Bill's a curse breaker and. . . and he's helped me out a lot getting ready for exams. . ."

"Yes, I'm sure you've been getting lots of help from . . . _Bill_," said Harry, unable to hold back a smile.

Ted blushed even redder, and Harry laughed out loud. "I'm just taking the mickey out of you, lad. But I hope you know what you're letting yourself in for. Weasley women can be challenging. Definitely worth it, but they are a challenge."

"I've found that out already," Ted said ruefully.

"I can image," Harry grinned. "But you should count yourself lucky. At least Victoire hasn't got six older brothers, like Ginny. Well, five now, but it used to be six."

"Wow," said Ted. "I never thought about that. You're a much braver man than I am, Harry!"

Harry clapped his godson on the back. "I'm off. Come round the house when you get a chance, Ted. James got his Hogwarts letter a few days ago and I'm sure he's saving up lots of questions for you."

"I will. Thanks!"

Harry took the lift down to Level Two where Auror headquarters was located. His secretary, a middle-aged witch whose glasses hung from a silver chain around her neck, was using her wand to direct three different quills that were churning out memos and reports. Each time she finished one, it folded in upon itself in the shape of an airplane, and with another flick of her wand, they zoomed out the door toward their intended recipients.

"Good morning, Calpurnia," Harry said, dodging one of the flying memos as he made for his private office.

"Mr. Potter!" she said. "Good morning, sir!"

"It's Harry," he corrected. "Just Harry, please."

"Yes, sir. I have a message for you from Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Granger-Weasley, that is, sir. She asked that you stop by her office the minute you got in. She claims it's urgent."

Harry sighed. Whenever Hermione wanted to see him, it was always urgent. So much for his plan to make a dent in the towering pile of paperwork on his desk. "I'd better see what she wants then. Oh, and Calpurnia, would you mind checking my schedule for later this week? I'd like to clear an entire day, if possible. My wife and I are taking our oldest boy to Diagon Alley to get him kitted out for his first year at Hogwarts."

Calpurnia's rather severe face split into a smile. "Would that be young James then, sir?"

"It would indeed. He's quite excited, as you might imagine."

"Of course he is. Would you please offer him my congratulations, sir?"

"I will. Thank you."

"And to you and Mrs. Potter as well, sir."

The constant "sir-ring" was getting a little tedious, but Harry held his tongue. Calpurnia was a recent transfer who had difficulty understanding the relative informality of the Auror office, and was still a little awed to be working for the famous Harry Potter. But Harry had run into this too often to let it bother him, and he was short enough on staff as it was. "Thank you, Calpurnia. If you'll just check my appointment book and get back to me. . ."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Potter. Right away, sir!"

Hermione's office was across the hall from Auror headquarters. Her secretary looked up as he approached. "Mr. Potter, Mrs. Granger-Weasley is expecting you. The Minister has already joined her."

Harry stopped short. "Kingsley. . . that is, the Minister is here?"

"Yes, sir. If you'll just step this way. . ."

She ushered Harry through to Hermione's office. "Harry," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his slow, deep voice as the door closed behind him. "Thank you for joining us so promptly."

"No problem," said Harry, shaking hands with the Minister before seating himself in the chair Shacklebolt indicated. He darted a curious look at Hermione who sat behind an unnaturally neat desk with her hands clenched tightly around a manila folder. Her thick, bushy hair, which she normally pulled back into a sleek bun for the office, was decidedly wind-blown, and there were lines of distress on her face.

"What's going on?" Harry asked. "Has something happened?"

"I'm afraid so," Shacklebolt replied. "There's been an escape from Azkaban. Cormac McLaggen."

"_What_?" said Harry. "How. . . _how_ is that possible?" It was incomprehensible. Despite the fact that Kingsley Shacklebolt had promptly removed the Dementors from Azkaban when he became Minister, there hadn't been a single escape from the wizard prison in twenty years. Not since the mass breakout of ten Death Eaters in Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts had there been such a security breach. And _McLaggen_, of all people! Granted, the offense had not been serious enough to warrant tight security conditions, but McLaggen had always struck Harry as someone who couldn't find his way out of a lavatory without assistance, let alone break out of prison.

"When?" Harry demanded.

"Sometime in the middle of the night," said Kingsley. "No one seems to know how he did it. There have been conflicting reports from the guards. It's possible there was outside assistance."

"There _had_ to be," said Harry, who had long suspected that McLaggen had sampled some of the illegal potions he'd been selling. Some contained ingredients known to affect mental acuity, and McLaggen, whom Ron had once described as troll-like, had never been razor sharp.

"I'll send a team out to Azkaban this afternoon to question the guards and other prisoners," said Harry, as his brain clicked automatically into high gear.

Hermione, who had been uncharacteristically silent during this discussion, cleared her throat. "I've already spoken to some of them. I was out there earlier this morning."

That, at least, explained her frazzled appearance. Hermione prosecuted criminal cases on behalf of the Ministry. McLaggen had been in Azkaban awaiting trial and Hermione was familiar with his case. But prison breaks were a little outside of her bailiwick, and Harry knew there must be more to this than met the eye.

"You and your Aurors put together a good case against McLaggen, Harry," Hermione was saying. "I was confident the Wizengamot would return a conviction against him once we laid out all the facts. He apparently thought so too, which is why he decided to escape. It seems he talked about it with some of the other prisoners, though none of them seems to know how he did it. Once they realized he'd done a runner, the guards searched his cell and made a . . . a discovery. They were able to get some information out of another prisoner in whom McLaggen appears to have confided. The poor man's a bit of a simpleton, really, he actually makes Cormac look intelligent . . ."

"Hermione," Harry said irritably, "is there a point to this story somewhere in our future?"

"Sorry," said Hermione. "McLaggen is furious, Harry. He's angry about the arrest and blames you for everything that's gone wrong since you refused to let him play Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It's completely mental, I know, but apparently he told this other prisoner that he had friends on the outside. Friends who also held a grudge against you and would help him carry out his vendetta."

Harry looked questioningly at Kingsley. "Death Eaters?"

"Not necessarily," the Minister replied. "As you know, most of them were either killed or imprisoned after Voldemort's fall. But there were a handful of pureblood witches and wizards who lost fortunes and status as a result of the new regime we put in place after the war. Once jobs and other remuneration were no longer dependent on blood status, those who had been resting on their family laurels were ousted in favor of those with genuine qualifications. It created resentment, and for some it's been a source of ongoing bitterness."

"I don't understand," said Harry. "What has anything of this got to do with McLaggen?"

"McLaggen comes from one of the old pureblood families," Hermione explained. "Most of them have completely disowned him, but he still has connections and one of them may have helped him escape."

Harry took a deep breath. "Well, then, I suppose the next step is totting up a list of the old pureblood families and working out which ones may have had ties to McLaggen."

"Harry, I'm afraid it gets even more complicated," said Hermione. "The prisoner. . . the man the guards interviewed, told them that McLaggen has been hatching some sort of plot. He's even been boasting about it, you know what a braggart he always was. . ."

"Plot?" said Harry. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione opened the folder and pulled out a scrap of parchment. "The guards found this in his cell. It was under his bed, he probably never meant to leave it behind, but he must have been in a hurry and . . . well, you'd better look at this."

Harry took the piece of parchment and felt a jolt somewhere in his mid-section:

_James Potter, age 11. . . Albus, 10. . .Lily, 8. . ._

Harry read the names again, slowly. "I don't understand. What do my children have to do with this?"

Hermione and Shacklebolt exchanged a look, then Hermione turned back to Harry. But something very strange was happening. Hermione's lips were moving. Harry knew she was speaking, but her words made no sense. She might as well have been speaking gibberish. "I'm sorry," Harry said. "Could you say that again?"

Hermione repeated what she had said. Harry sat there for several minutes, understanding on some dim level that he was in deep shock. At last he said, in a voice that didn't sound remotely like his own: "If I'm hearing you correctly, Hermione, you're telling me that McLaggen, along with an unknown number of possible confederates. . ." Harry took deep breath before concluding, "They're planning to kill my children?"

Now the words were out of his mouth, they seemed even more inexplicable. "It may be just an idle boast," said Hermione, who seemed to be clutching at straws. "Of course that _would_ be very much in character for Cormac. And we don't know for sure that anyone else is involved."

"But as you pointed out yourself, Harry," said Kingsley, "he's hardly the fastest broom in the shed. It doesn't seem very likely that he could have worked something like this out on his own. I know that you've faced serious threats in the past, Harry, certainly far more serious than this one, but a single deranged man can cause incalculable damage and if he really _is_ working with others . . . well, that's even more worrying."

"I always knew he was a little cracked," said Harry. "But this . . . he must be out of his mind!"

"He's clearly unhinged," Kingsley agreed. "To threaten the Head of the Auror Department, a man who is honored as a hero throughout the length and breadth of our world . . . Well, as I say, it's patently absurd, but at the same time I think we musts take it seriously. Harry, I want you to know that the full might of the Ministry is behind you. You shall have all the protection we can muster until this madman is caught and safely behind bars."

Harry shook his head to try and clear it. It made no sense on any level. The Aurors under his management had a tradition of looking out for one another. It was common knowledge that they would go to the ends of the earth to hunt down and punish anyone foolish enough to cause injury or death to one of their own, and this protection also extended to family members. Even the pettiest criminals understood the code the Aurors lived by, but it would be poor consolation to Harry and Ginny if their children ended up dead because McLaggen was too thick to follow the rules.

"I want you to select a team of your best men and women," Shacklebolt was saying. "Take them off other assignments if you have to, but I want the very best providing round-the-clock protection for you and your family. I will ensure that you have all the manpower you require, even if we have to bring people in from other departments. That's a direct order from the Minister, Harry, and it has my highest priority. Understood?"

Harry nodded, and Shacklebolt stood to shake his hand, then he looked at Hermione whose eyes were brimming with unshed tears. "Keep me apprised of what's happening."

"Yes, Minister," Hermione murmured.

"He's a . . . a good man, Kingsley," said Harry, when Shacklebolt had gone. "A good man."

"I'm in shock," Hermione said. "I'm completely shocked, Harry. As soon as I heard, I Apparated straight out to Azkaban and when they told me about this, I couldn't believe it. I still can't believe it."

"How long have you known about this?" asked Harry.

Hermione looked confused. "I didn't know anything about the escape, if that's what you're asking. And I certainly never knew he was bandying about harming the children. Harry, you _know_ I would have told you about that straight away had I ever even suspected. . ."

"But you knew he'd been talking about getting even with me?"

"I heard rumors," Hermione admitted. "It was while we were preparing for trial, but I didn't take any of it seriously. Maybe I should have, but prisoners talk that way all the time, you know that as well as I do. Half the prisoners in Azkaban hate you for putting them in there. McLaggen, though. . . I mean, I knew he was a bully. He was like that at school, but he always seemed more talk than anything. I never suspected, Harry, I never even imagined, he would be capable of anything so evil."

Harry did not answer. Hermione came around the desk and pulled up a chair beside him, clasping one of his hands in her own. "Tell me what to do, Harry," she said. "Shall I send for Ron? Should I ask him to meet us here? I'll do anything you want. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

Harry remained silent. His mind throbbed with urgency, but for once in his life he seemed incapable of action. He felt bemused, befuddled, almost disembodied. This can't be happening, he thought. Not now, not after all these years, and certainly not to those he loved and cherished most in the world. Had it been a threat against him, Harry would have taken it in stride. People had been threatening him all of his life, but his children . . . His _children_! This was what my parents felt, Harry thought. This was what went through their minds and hearts when they found out Voldemort was after me. Harry felt closer to his parents than he ever had before, for he understood what had driven them to do what they did and knew that he would do the same without hesitation. He would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat and never once look back if it meant safety for James, Albus, and Lily.

But Voldemort had been one of the darkest wizards in history. This was Cormac sodding McLaggen, for Merlin's sake! McLaggen was nothing, he was no one, he was scarcely worth the effort. But what if McLaggen really did have the support of others? What if this dimwitted, bullying _nobody _was in league with stronger, smarter, worthier wizards? What a bitter paradox this was! And how exquisitely ironic that just two days ago Harry had vowed to spend more time with his family, to put his duty to them ahead of his duty to the Ministry. Yet because he had done his duty to the Ministry, his family was in peril. McLaggen could be anywhere. He could already be in London, he could be out there searching. Harry had kept the protective enchantments around Grimmauld Place, both for his family's safety and because leaving the house unplottable had kept it from becoming a tourist attraction for those who wanted to see where the famous Harry Potter lived. At home they were safe, but away from home they were all so very vulnerable: James, with his mischievous grin and wild excitement, so thrilled to be going to Hogwarts – they could not possibly let him go now; Albus, who was sensitive and impish by turns, both victim and accomplice to his older brother; and Lily, Harry's dear, darling girl with her sweet face and soft brown eyes so like Ginny's. . .

Harry dropped his head into his hands as though his neck could no longer support it. "Ginny," he whispered. "I have to tell Ginny."

"I'll go with you," said Hermione. "I'll send for Ron. We'll tell her together."

But Harry shook his head. This was something he had to do himself. He had to be the one to let Ginny know that their children were in danger, and he knew that he would rather face Voldemort again than see the look in her eyes when he told her.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Letter**

_**A/N:** Thanks so much to everyone who has taken the time to review. Your praise and encouragement means a great deal and has inspired me to move this story along at a much faster pace than I ever would have dreamed possible. Please keep sharing your thoughts and happy reading!_

**Chapter Four**

Ginny didn't become hysterical. She didn't cry. She didn't even shout at him, and this surprised Harry because he had expected shouting. At the very least he expected an explosion of temper. Ginny didn't erupt as often as her mother did, but once she got going she could raise the decibel level in a manner to make Molly proud. What Ginny did do, however, was so much worse, which was to go so pale that for a moment Harry feared she might actually lose consciousness.

Harry held her as tightly as he could without crushing her. "I'm so sorry, Ginny," he murmured over and over. "I'm so sorry, so very sorry, this is is _all_ my fault, I know it's. . ."

"_Your_ fault?" she said, pulling far enough away to look him in the eye. He was relieved to see that a little of her color had returned. "How do you work that one out?"

Now Harry was really confused. He was used to apologizing to Ginny, she was used to agreeing he was wrong, and that was usually the end of it. Apologizing had been one of the essential steps in _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_, the book Ron gave Harry for his seventeenth birthday, and Ron's father had endorsed its wisdom shortly before Harry and Ginny were married. It happened after Harry, who had been watching Ginny exhaust herself with all the wedding preparations, suggested that it might be sensible to tone things down a bit. What was the point, he argued, of spending a lot of gold on caterers and dressmakers, and getting into shouting matches with her mother nine times a day, when it would be so much easier to have a small wedding with just family and close friends in attendance? This, unfortunately, had been the wrong thing to say and the resulting blow up sent Harry to his future father-in-law in frustration to ask the age-old question: how does one handle a woman, especially a quick-tempered Weasley woman?

Arthur Weasley had a ready answer. "Admit you were wrong, apologize, and move on."

"But what if I'm _not_ wrong?" Harry asked.

"Doesn't matter," Arthur replied calmly. "Just admit you were at fault and say you're sorry. It's the only way to have a quiet life."

Harry must have looked skeptical because Arthur went on, "In the long run, Harry, it doesn't matter whose fault it was. What matters is that you don't let it go beyond the original argument or escalate past the point of repair. Mind, I didn't say you had to stop doing whatever it was you did that annoyed her in the first place. We men can't seem to stop ourselves doing things that annoy women. Either that or they can't stop themselves being annoyed by whatever it is we do. But if you take the long view of things, they usually turn out to be right and we generally end up in the wrong, so it really is much simpler to apologize for everything up front and be done with it."

But this time there was no sham or pretense in Harry's apology. He really did feel that he was to blame for the situation with McLaggen, and he was surprised to realize that Ginny did not agree. "It's because of me this has happened," he tried to explain. "He's using the children to get back at _me_, so it's my fault, isn't it?

She pulled completely away from him and gave him a direct, penetrating stare that reminded him of the blazing look he had seen the very first time he kissed her. "Harry, at what stage of your life do you plan to stop taking all the sins of the world on your shoulders? Are you really so bloody arrogant that you believe yourself responsible for _everything_?"

"_Arrogant_?" said Harry. Despite his guilt, this seemed a bit harsh.

"Yes, _arrogant_!" Ginny replied. "Things go wrong in life, Harry. People do terrible things and other people get hurt. Sometimes they even die, like my brother, Fred. You tried to take credit for that, too, remember? But _you_ didn't kill him. You didn't kill Remus or Tonks, or Mad-Eye, or Dumbledore, or any of the others who died fighting Voldemort. They died because they chose to fight for a better life, so we could all live in a world without fear. They fought alongside you, Harry, but they didn't fight _for _you and they didn't die for you either."

Harry was momentarily speechless. Then he said, in a voice aching with misery, "That's not the case this time, is it? James, Al, and Lily don't have a choice."

"No, but you didn't choose this either! McLaggen's a _bastard_, Harry! He's cruel or he's mad or he's just plain evil, but he's the one threatening our children, not you. You did your job the best you knew how and this . . . well, it's a horrible consequence, but it isn't your fault."

Ginny's voice broke. She dropped onto the wing chair near the fireplace in the sitting room as if her legs could not support her any longer and buried her face in her hands. In a paroxysm of guilt, Harry knelt beside her, plucking at her robes, and gazing up at her beseechingly. He assumed she had given way at last to tears, and who could blame her if she had? But when she looked up, her eyes were dry and her face had hardened into grim determination.

"What are we going to do about it, then?" she demanded briskly.

"We?" said Harry, a little startled.

"Yes, _we_! They're my children too, in case you've forgotten. I distinctly recall giving birth three times and believe me, it was no picnic! So why don't you get over yourself and tell me what the hell is going on!"

Harry should have realized Ginny would never give in to weakness in the face of such a threat. Though she could be as soft and feminine as the first breath of spring, in times of crisis she was as tough as an old boot, and when it came to her children she was completely fearless. Harry had a sudden mental image of Molly Weasley rushing into the fray to take on Bellatrix Lestrange during the Battle of Hogwarts. For a moment Harry almost felt sorry for McLaggen, whose prospects were bleak if Ginny reached him before the Aurors did.

"We already have teams of Hit Wizards and Witches from Magical Law Enforcement looking for him," Harry said, drawing up a chair beside her. "Hermione and Kingsley set that in motion even before I heard about it. And I've already pulled together a team of Aurors to investigate possible co-conspirators. As you already know . . . Or maybe you don't know. I guess I haven't talked about this case with you, have I?"

"You seldom tell me about anything you're working on," said Ginny.

"That's because I can't! Most of my work is confidential, and it's for your own safety, really . . ."

"I know, I know!" Ginny interrupted. "Go on, please."

"It was my department that tracked down McLaggen," Harry said. "It was . . . well, this is the confidential part, but under the circumstances I don't think anyone could blame me . . . The thing is, Ginny, McLaggen _was_ selling illegal potions, just like Ron said the other night, but it wasn't confined to Knockturn Alley. He was a middleman for an organization that's been shipping dodgy potions all over the country, though they recently branched out to the Continent. And it isn't just the basic bubotuber-puss-Doxie-dropping concoction either. It's really, really dark stuff and very, very dangerous. McLaggen is nowhere near clever enough to come up with something like that himself, but we couldn't get anything out of him, even under questioning with Veritaserum. Once we interrogated him, we were forced to the conclusion that he really didn't know anything about his supplier, who has apparently taken great care to maintain a screen of secrecy between him or herself and the distributors. But we had McLaggen dead to rights on a distribution charge, and that was what Hermione was preparing to convict him on when he escaped."

Ginny had gone pale again. "You said he probably had help getting out of Azkaban. Does that mean whoever's been supplying these potions to him helped him escape?"

Harry was silent for a moment. Finally he said, "That's the conclusion I came to just a couple of hours ago."

Ginny stared at the fire for several minutes. Harry could see the dancing flames reflected in her eyes. "This team of Aurors you've pulled together. Can you tell me their names? Do I know any of them?"

"You know some of them," Harry said. "There's Hockley,Towler, Parkin. . . oh, and Rowan Scrimgeour. You met him at the Ministry Christmas party last year, didn't you?"

"Rowan Scrimgeour?" said Ginny. "Rufus Scrimgeour's son? Yes, I remember, but. . . I thought you didn't trust him."

Harry hesitated. It had less to do with his lack of trust in Scrimgeour than the history involved. Rowan Scrimgeour was a skilled Auror with the same tawny hair and bushy eyebrows as the former Minister for Magic, but he lacked his father's commanding presence and there was a subtle antipathy in his attitude that made Harry vaguely uneasy, even though he sympathized with it to a certain extent. Scrimgeour, who was both older and more experienced, felt that he had been passed over for the top job when Harry was promoted to lead the department his father once commanded. The first few months had been touch and go, but in time the younger Scrimgeour's resentment subsided and Harry's sense of obligation to the memory of his late father made him put the forth the extra effort. Whatever his faults may have been, the old lion had died bravely, refusing to give Harry up to the Death Eaters who tried to force him to reveal the whereabouts of the Boy Who Lived. In a way, Harry felt he owed a life debt to the former Minister, and he was a man who paid his debts.

"Rowan is my most experienced Auror," Harry explained to Ginny. "He's been involved with this case from the start and he knows exactly what we're dealing with. But he's in charge of the investigative team. He won't be one of the ones following you and the kids around."

"So there are going to be Aurors following us everywhere we go?" said Ginny, who didn't look as though she cared much for the idea.

Harry hesitated again. "It's a little more complicated than that, Ginny. There really can't be an 'everywhere.'"

"What do you mean?"

"You and the children are safe here. There are protective charms all around this house, and I have a team of Aurors stationed outside in case they're needed. But beyond these walls. . ."

"You mean we can't leave the house?" Ginny said incredulously. "We're to be prisoners in our own home?"

"I can't protect you as well anywhere else, Ginny. Your safety and that of our children is paramount, don't you understand?"

"But what about James?" said Ginny. "He's leaving for Hogwarts in a few weeks! We haven't got his things yet. He hasn't even picked out his wand. . ."

"Ginny," Harry said in a voice of quiet desperation. "That's not possible now. You _know_ it isn't possible."

Ginny's eyes widened. "Harry, no. _No,_ Harry! I can't tell him! _We_ can't! He's so thrilled about going to Hogwarts! He's been looking forward to this for . . ."

"Ginny, don't you think I'm dreading this every bit as much as you? Do you think _I _want to tell James that he can't go to Hogwarts?"

"_James can't go to Hogwarts?"_

Harry and Ginny spun around. Albus was standing in the doorway, his bright green eyes staring owlishly behind the glasses he'd started wearing a few months ago. They made his thin face look so earnest as he gazed back at his startled parents who appeared frozen, as though both had been stupefied at exactly the same moment.

"Why can't James go to Hogwarts?" Albus asked.

Ginny recovered first. "He can't go _yet_, can he?" she said in a falsely cheerful voice that Harry felt certain fooled no one, least of all Albus who was the most sensitive of their three children and had a way of picking up on even the subtlest nuance. "The Hogwarts Express doesn't leave until September first, does it?"

"Why are you down here, Al?" asked Harry. "I asked Winky to keep all three of you in the nursery."

"James locked Winky in that charmed cupboard again," Albus said. "You know, the one she can't Apparate out of? I just came down to tell you."

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look. Her eyes pleaded with him to say no more until they'd had a chance to talk it out. He gave her a curt nod, but something had to be done about Albus. "I'd better go let her out," Harry said. "Want to come along and give me a hand, Al?"

Albus trudged willingly behind his father, but they were only half way up the stairs when Harry stopped and crouched down so that he and Albus were face to face. "Al, I need to ask a favor of you. Don't say anything to your brother about what you heard. Or anyone else for that matter. All right?"

Albus shifted from one foot to the other. "Why can't he go?"

"It's not. . ." Harry began. "We don't know for sure yet. There are . . . well, there are circumstances that we can't control at the moment. I'll explain everything once we know what's going on. I promise you that. I'll explain it to you and to your brother and sister. But for now, would you mind keeping this just between us? Can you do that for me, Al? As a special favor?"

The boy stared at him, searching his face with the worried frown that so often creased that smooth young brow. Why was it only this child who ever seemed to worry? Was it because he was the one who looked most like Harry? Had he inherited his father's anxieties along with the eyes and hair? Finally, to Harry's relief, Albus nodded, "Thank you, Al," Harry said. "Thank you very much. Shall we shake on it?"

Albus placed his small hand in his father's large one, and Harry followed this up with a fierce, brief hug. Then they climbed the remaining stairs to rescue a fuming Winky from the cupboard.

"You is a bad boy, Master James!" Winky scolded in her squeaky little voice. "A bad, bad boy!"

"I agree, Winky," said Harry, gazing sternly at James, who looked brazenly unashamed until his father informed him that he would be going to bed immediately after dinner, a full three hours earlier than usual.

"What's more, young man," Harry said, "you will help Winky and Kreacher around the house tomorrow. Your mother will set you a list of jobs that I believe will keep you busy enough to stay out of trouble."

James' darted a look at Albus and hissed, so quietly that Harry nearly missed it, "Snitch!"

"And if I find out you've done anything to your brother," Harry went on, "you'll have an extra day. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, sir," said James, hanging his head in a repentant attitude that Harry did not believe for a minute.

Harry and Ginny didn't have a chance to talk again before dinner, then there were the children's baths to see to and everyone had to be tucked into bed. Once the house was quiet, they decided to turn in early themselves and lay in bed side by side, not talking, for the longest time.

"I've been thinking," Harry said at last. "Maybe we don't have to say anything right away."

Ginny turned over on her side to look at him. "We promised we'd take him to Diagon Alley this week."

"I've been thinking about that too," said Harry. "If we take certain precautions . . . and I mean the strictest safety measures I can possibly arrange, then maybe. . . maybe we can still go."

Ginny moved closer and laid her head in the hollow of his shoulder, the place he always reserved just for her. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing as much comfort from her warmth as he gave in return. This was his sanctuary, his shelter, his place of refuge. Let the world rage and storm around them. As long as this haven remained, there was nothing out there that could possibly touch them.

Harry thought Ginny must have fallen asleep. Then a slight, almost inaudible sniff made him look down, and when he touched her cheek it was wet with tears. She cried so seldom, his Ginny, and when she did it was always in silence. Harry felt his heart contract, and without conscious thought he placed his hands on either side of her face and raised it to his own. Still weeping silently, she wrapped herself around him, and in the darkness of their mutual despair they made love with a kind of desperate intensity.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Letter**

_**A/N:**__ In reference to the names of Bill and Fleur's twin sons, Romulus and Remus, particularly the nicknames that I suggest in this chapter are assigned to them by Fleur – Romy might be a bit of a stretch, but Remy is actually a fairly common French name which, curiously enough, means "healer." I chose this nickname deliberately as I'd like to think that Remy will grow up to discover a cure for the Werewolf bite which so blighted the life of his father, Bill Weasley, as well as the man for whom he was named, Remus Lupin. _

**Chapter Five**

A surprise was waiting for James when the Potters arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Standing at the bar, his hair an unusually subdued light brown, was none other than Teddy Lupin whose face split into a wide grin as James, Albus and Lily hurled themselves at him.

"Teddy!" they all cried at once, and Ted disappeared behind a welter of arms, legs, and shrieking children. "Easy, easy!" he laughed, pretending to fend off the overexcited boys, while Lily contented herself with hugging him around the legs. He gazed over the top of the nearest head and said, "How are you Harry, Ginny?"

"We're fine, Teddy," said Ginny, extracting a couple of children so she could get close enough to kiss him on the cheek. "You're looking very well, I must say. And so handsome in your new robes!"

Ted blushed at the compliment, then James yelled loud enough to be heard by anyone passing by on Charing Cross Road: "Dad, you didn't tell us Teddy would be here!"

Harry smiled. "I told you there'd be a surprise, didn't I?"

"Are you coming shopping with us, Teddy?" asked Albus, swinging from Ted's arm while James did a kind of war dance around his hero.

"I had a day off from training," Ted explained. "Your dad said you would all be here today, so I thought I'd tag along. Hope you don't mind, but I brought along a couple of mates. This is Rob Wilkinson and Myron Cadwallader, and they're up for a day of shopping too. Harry, I think you already know these blokes."

Harry did indeed. They were wearing the same plum-colored Auror-trainee robes as Ted, though in fact Wilkinson and Cadwallader were fully trained Aurors who had been selected by Harry to play Ted's "chums" for the day. Harry had painstakingly arranged a special protection detail that would, he hoped, prevent the children from being aware they were being guarded. That was why Ted, though still unqualified, had been recruited for the operation. With luck, his presence would deflect the children's attention and prevent them being frightened by the presence of the Aurors. Ginny, of course, was aware of Cadwallader and Wilkinson's true identities, and her smile was a little strained as she shook their hands. She was wound more tightly than a coiled spring, but fortunately James, Albus, and Lily were all too keyed up to notice.

Harry had ambivalent feelings about this trip. After first agreeing to it and then making all the arrangements for the children's protection, he had begun having second thoughts, not least of all because it would be so much harder to tell James he couldn't go to Hogwarts after going through all the motions of preparing him. Ginny had taken the opposite, and in Harry's opinion, less rational view, which was that going through the motions was actually an exercise in self-determination, as though wishing and hoping for the best would actually make it so. They'd sat up late several nights in a row talking about it, and Harry had finally acquiesced in the face of Ginny's determination. Now, however, she seemed even more nervous than Harry as they made their way to the walled courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron where the secret entrance to Diagon Alley was located.

Despite his apprehension, Harry couldn't help remembering the first time he'd seen Diagon Alley when he was the same age as James was now. Hagrid had been with him then and everything about the magical world had been both new and wonderfully exciting. The Potter children had been to Diagon Alley many times, but they seemed no less enthralled by the sights and sounds than their father had been. As soon as they passed through the archway and stepped out onto the cobbled street, James immediately darted off toward Quality Quidditch Supplies, but Ted, whose orders were to keep everyone together, guided James deftly back toward the group.

Ted was doing an exemplary job, Harry thought, maintaining just the right air of amused nonchalance: telling jokes, sharing a few of his training stories, even carrying on a lighthearted conversation with his supposed "mates" as if they were all indeed old chums. Cadwallader, a rather grim-faced young man, had a harder time pulling this off, but Wilkinson laughed and joked along with Ted, and Harry made a mental note to commend him once they were all safely back where they belonged. If anyone was really making it work, though, it was Ted, whose calm gray eyes scanned the crowd constantly while he play-wrestled with the boys and reached out to give Lily's hair an affectionate tussle. Harry felt a surge of pride in his godson. As department head, he could not play favorites, but he was so proud, so button-bursting, chest-thumpingly proud of Ted, and wished for at least the millionth time that Remus and Tonks could have lived to see the man their son had become.

Tonks' mother was the one who had actually raised Teddy, but Harry had spent as much time with the boy as possible while he was growing up. Following Sirius's example, Harry had bought Teddy a toy broomstick for his first birthday, and laughed to see him zooming around the house, his toes barely skimming the floor as he imperiled several of Andromeda's most prized possessions. Both Andromeda and Teddy had been included in all the Potter-Weasley family celebrations so that Ted had grown up surrounded by a loud, exuberant, loving family who regaled him with stories about his parents. Bill Weasley had even named his two sons for Teddy's father. Following his attack by Fenrir Greyback, Bill had grown close to Remus Lupin and after Lupin's death, Bill wanted to honor his friend's memory. When Fleur's second pregnancy resulted in twin sons, they decided to name one boy Remus while the other bore the name Lupin had used on _Potterwatch_. Romulus and Remus were the same age as George and Katie's son, Fred, who was a year older than James. Like Romy and Remy, as Fleur had dubbed the twins, young Fred was a Gryffindor and James was very much looking forward to seeing his older cousin when they visited the joke shop later that day.

Harry had already gone to Gringotts earlier in the week to take gold out of his vault, so they didn't need to stop there. Instead they went to the stationers to purchase quills and parchment, then stopped at Flourish and Blotts for all the books on James's book list. While everything was being rung up, Harry leafed moodily through a copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ and wondered if James would have an opportunity to use any of his books that year. It seemed almost cruel what they were doing, building up his hopes only to crush them in a few weeks time, which Harry felt sure was all but inevitable. They were no closer to finding McLaggen or his cohorts. Harry had checked with the Magical Law Enforcement Squad ten times a day, and kept after Rowan Scrimgeour's investigative team to such a degree that they could hardly get any work done. He finally had the sense to back off, but still there had been no sign of progress. Harry spent hours poring over the case file, but so far he'd found nothing. It was frustrating, maddening and agonizing all at once, and watching Ginny's anxiety grow exponentially higher each day only made it worse.

Once they were out on the street again, Ginny consulted the list that came with the letter from Hogwarts. "We need to pop in at the Apothecary for your potion supplies, James," she said. "We have to get your cauldron, of course, and I think we'll still have time to get your robes before we're due at the joke shop. . ."

"And my wand!" James reminded her. "We have to go to Ollivander's for my wand!"

"We'll go there right after lunch," Ginny promised. "And that should be our last stop before we . . ."

She broke off as Lily shrieked in pain. "Mummy! You're hurting me!"

"Sorry, dear," said Ginny, loosening the death grip she had on her daughter's hand, but she did not let go.

_Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ had grown considerably since Fred and George first opened it two decades earlier. The shops on either side of the original premises had been incorporated and the rooms above the shop, which Fred and George once used as a bachelor flat, had been converted into offices from which Ron now managed their far flung empire. George still managed day-to-day operations and supervised the development of new products, while Ron was responsible for marketing and expansion.

The Potters made their way through the packed shop after a cheery wave from the cashier, and came upon George in one of the back rooms, surrounded by bottles, boxes, and cellophane bags filled with mysterious powders.

"Ginny!" George exclaimed, enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug. "My favorite sister!"

"You really need to come up with a new line," Ginny said, grinning up at her brother. "That one's getting a bit stale."

"Mummy's your _only_ sister, Uncle George," observed Lily.

"You're quite right, Lily," said George, rescuing his niece from her mother's clutches. "She's still my favorite, though. And you know what else? _I'm_ her favorite brother!"

"You are?" said Lily. "What about Uncle Bill? And Uncle Charlie and Uncle Percy and Uncle Ron?"

"Yes, well, I wouldn't tell them if I were you," George said with a sad look for Lily and a wink for Harry, who stood grinning next to Ted and the boys while the bemused Aurors hovered near the door, as though contemplating an escape route. "It would only hurt their feelings, you see. But do you know _why_ I'm her favorite, Lily?"

"Why?" asked Lily.

Ginny, who was regarding her brother through narrowed eyes, said, "I'd like to hear this myself."

"It's because I'm such a good listener," George said, pointing to the fleshy area where an ear had once been. "I'm _all ears_, you see."

Harry and Ted groaned simultaneously. "Stop telling those lies, George," said Katie, entering the room with her son, Fred. "You shouldn't lie to children."

"Lies?" said George, clearly offended. "I never lie! Do I, Harry?"

"If you're looking for a diplomatic answer, I'll have to lie myself," Harry said, shaking George's hand and accepting a hug from his wife, the former Katie Bell who had played Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team along with Ginny.

"Where are Gideon and Fabian?" asked Ginny in reference to George and Katie's younger sons.

"They're at Mother's," explained Katie. "She wanted to take all three of them this week, but Fred knew how much James wanted to talk to him about Hogwarts, so he stayed behind."

"How's business, George?" asked Ted as they shook hands.

"Never better," George replied. "I have three new product lines ready for launch, and Ron's expanding things left and right. Did he tell about our latest venture, Harry?"

"Yes, just a few days ago," Harry said. "I suppose he's upstairs, buried in paperwork?"

"As a matter of fact, that's where we're having lunch," said George. "Katie's put on a lovely spread in the conference room. Right this way, ladies and . . . who the bloody hell are you?"

He was staring at Wilkinson and Cadwallader who both looked a little wrong-footed. "These are a couple of mates of mine, George," Ted replied quickly. "They're in training with me at the Ministry. They had a bit of shopping to do today too, so I asked them along. Hope it's all right?"

George blinked. "Oh, sure. The more the merrier! What'd you say your names were again?"

"This is Rob Wilkinson and Myron Cadwallader," Ted replied on their behalf. "Rob, Myron, this George Weasley, his wife Katie, and their son Fred."

"Cadwallader," Katie said reflectively. "You wouldn't be any relation to Stephen Cadwallader, would you?"

"Er, yeah," Cadwallader replied uneasily. "He's my uncle."

"Oh! Nice!" said Katie. "You remember Stephen Cadwallader, don't you, Harry? He was on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. He played against us in that awful match when Cormac McLaggen knocked you out with a beater's bat."

Katie laughed, but Harry's smile froze and next to him he felt Ginny stiffen. No one seemed to notice anything amiss, though Harry thought he saw George's brows knit briefly as he led everyone up the stairs to the suite of offices above the shop.

Like George, Ron wore _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ robes in a garish shade of magenta that clashed horribly with his hair. He was waiting for them in the conference room which was already set with a variety of salads, cold meats, fresh bread, and flagons of pumpkin juice. As soon as everyone had exchanged greetings and Ted had introduced his so-called friends again, Ron pulled something out from under the table.

"Here you are, Jamie," said Ron, holding up a bird cage covered by a white cloth. "A little going away present before you head off to Hogwarts."

James whipped off the cover to reveal a rather sleepy looking Eagle Owl with black and gold feathers and great tufts over its eyes that gave it a very haughty appearance. "Wow!" said James. "He's cool! Thanks, Uncle Ron!"

"Suck up," muttered George out of the side of his mouth as all the children and Ted inspected James's new owl.

"You didn't have to do that, Ron," Ginny said, though she gave him an extra tight hug.

"Course I did," said Ron. "He's not only my nephew, he's my godson, too. Anyhow, it's just. . ." His voice trailed off and he darted a look at Harry before looking quickly away. Harry knew exactly what Ron was thinking, knew also why Ron had bought the owl for James, and felt a wave of affection for his old friend that nearly brought tears to his eyes. Unlike George or Katie, Ron knew exactly what was going on and the knowledge had broken his irascible, impossible, incredibly soft heart. Harry had once told Ron just how much it meant to have Hedwig during those endless summers when he was trapped at the Dursleys, and Ron, remembering, had made this gesture. Harry had to turn away for a moment, and when he turned back again he avoided Ron's eyes lest he give himself up completely.

At one end of the table, Ginny and Katie talked about children and Quidditch, Ginny's _Daily Prophet_ column and Katie's full-time job working alongside her husband in the shop. At the other end, George held forth with outrageous tales of his misbegotten youth, every last one of which included his brother Fred. For a long time after Fred's death, George had been in a very bad way, drinking himself into a stupor almost every night and coming within a hair's breadth of losing his business. It wasn't until first Ron and then Katie intervened to help him see that, as the sole surviving member of the Dynamic Duo, George owed it to Fred's memory to keep laughter flowing. Now he could talk about Fred with joy in the memory, and Harry's heart still soared to see him laughing again.

"There was one time," George was confiding to the boys, "that Fred and I both fell in love with the same girl. I'm talking about your Uncle Fred, of course, not this young rapscallion here." He leaned over to ruffle his son's gingery hair. "She was a girl from the village. A _Muggle_ girl!"

"You fell in love with a _Muggle _girl?" said James, who had met few Muggles in his short lifetime and knew none very well.

Pleased by the effect he was creating, George said, "We were only about ten years old at the time, but let me tell you something, lads, Muggle girls aren't like witches. No, indeed. Not at all. And this girl . . ." He glanced at the other end of the table where Katie and Ginny were still in deep conversation, then leaned closer to whisper to the boys, "She let us touch her knickers!"

Fred, James and Albus stared, wide-eyed. Even the two Aurors exchanged a look. "That's right, boys," George said. "She put them in a cardboard box, left it in the orchard near our house, and we touched them!"

"George," Katie said, as Harry, Ron and Ted burst out laughing. "Stop telling those lies! And what are you talking about to make those boys look that way?"

"What way would that be, my pet?" asked George, in a voice of infinite sweetness.

Katie rolled her eyes. "Honestly!" she said to Ginny. "It's like having four boys to look after, and the oldest is the least well behaved!"

Ron nudged Harry. "Why don't you come into my office for a minute? There's something I want to show you."

Leaving the others to talk, Harry followed Ron down the hall to his private office which, unlike Hermione's pristine office at the Ministry, was an absolute avalanche of paper and file folders. He cleared away a spot for Harry to sit down and sat next to him, clamping one of his large hands on Harry's shoulder in a nearly vice-like grip."

"Harry," Ron said. "When Hermione told me what that. . . that _bastard_ . . . that anyone could even _think_ something like that, let alone make plans to carry it out. . ."

"I know," said Harry. "I got your note, by the way. Thanks for that. It meant a lot, Ron, it really did."

"Listen, Harry," Ron said. "I've been thinking. Maybe it would be best for the five of you to come stay with us for awhile."

Harry blinked, surprised. "Grimmauld Place is perfectly safe, Ron. There are protective charms all around it."

"I know that, but we can protect our house the same way, can't we? And maybe it would help throw McLaggen off if you were someplace other than wherever he expected you to be. We have plenty of room, Harry, you know that, and there's a houseful of servants to look after things. What do you say?"

Harry repressed a smile, for what Ron called "a houseful of servants" was, in fact, more like a refugee camp for displaced house-elves. Hermione had started her Ministry career at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures where she had helped pass a number of laws to improve the rights and working conditions of house-elves. However, one of the consequences of such laws was that some wizard families decided house-elves weren't worth the trouble and chucked them out to fend for themselves. Hermione made heroic efforts to find jobs for as many of these unfortunate creatures as possible, but had ended up taking most of them into her own home where Ron complained that he was always tripping over them. In time, however, everyone adjusted and, in truth, Ron and Hermione's house reminded Harry of the controlled chaos Ron had grown up with at the Burrow.

But Harry could see no point in uprooting his own family to add to the bedlam at Ron and Hermione's, so he said, "I appreciate the offer, Ron, but we're just as safe at Grimmauld Place as we'd be anywhere else."

"Are you sure?" said Ron, searching his face as though he were sickening for something.

"Positive. In fact, we're probably safer there because Sirius' family put a lot of defenses in place that none of us would even begin to know how to duplicate. Not that any of us would want to try, but at the moment I'm not sorry it's there. And the truth is, I'm not as worried about McLaggen as I am about whomever he may be working with. Actually, that reminds me of something I wanted to ask you . . ."

Harry broke off as the door opened. George strolled in, whistling a merry tune, and plopped himself on top of a stack of papers on the floor. "So," he said, lacing his hands behind his head and leaning against the wall. "What's going on, Harry?"

"What are you talking about?" said Harry, feeling his face grow hot in spite of himself. "There's nothing going on."

"Isn't there?" said George. "So the fact that you and Ginny both look like bit players from a production of _Night of the_ _Living Dead_ is purely coincidental? All right, then. What about those two Aurors you're bashing around with?"

"Aurors?" said Harry, going even redder. "Those aren't Aurors, George. At least not yet. They're friends of Ted's and . . ."

"Come on, Harry! That Cadwallader bloke is so stiff you'd break his arm if you tried to bend it. And both are a little long in the tooth to be trainees, I'd say. So are you going to tell me what's going on or am I going to have to torture it out of my little brother here?"

"Yeah, well, good luck with that," Ron grumbled.

George grinned evilly at Ron and said, "_Ve haff vays of makink you talk!"_

"Sod off!" said Ron, going even redder than Harry. "That hasn't worked since I was nine!"

"All right, George," said Harry. "I'll give you the bare essentials, but you have to promise me you won't breathe a word to anyone. Not even Katie. You understand?"

George looked offended. "You know you can trust me, Harry! Have I ever let you down? Okay, don't answer that," he said, as Harry's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "But I give you my solemn oath that whatever you say will go with me to my grave. Wizard's Honor! If you insist, I'll even make an Unbreakable Vow."

"That won't be necessary," said Harry. "You are family, after all."

"I was the last time I checked," George said. "So what's up, brother-in-law?"

Harry gave him the sketchiest possible account, but it was enough for George who let fly with a string of profanities so foul that Harry might have been shocked had he not spent so much time with Ron over the years.

"That _bastard _better hope I don't get to him first!" George said, reaching for his wand as though he were about to start cursing everything in sight, purely on principle. "Killing's too good for him! Just give me two minutes with that little. . ."

"George!" said Harry, grabbing his wrist as red sparks began to fly out of the end of his wand. "I appreciate the sentiment, but McLaggen really isn't the main problem. What I need to find out is who helped him escape from Azkaban, because once I know that, I think I'll know . . . well, a lot more than I know now, that's for sure. Just before you came in, I was about to ask Ron to keep an eye out for anyone unusual going in and out of Knockturn Alley. Anyone who isn't usually going in and out of there, I mean. I have Aurors stationed everywhere, but shopkeepers sometimes see things Aurors don't. You know the sights and sounds of Diagon Alley better than anyone, and you might pick up on something that'll help us find out who's behind all this. I want you to let me know straightaway if you see or hear anything unusual. Would you do that for me?"

"You know we will, mate," Ron replied.

"Actually," said George, rather pensively. "I saw something just a few days ago that made me sort of . . . .wonder. Do you know Claude Attor, Harry?"

"The man who owns the Apothecary shop here in Diagon Alley?" said Harry. "I've never met him, but I know him by reputation, of course. What about him?"

"I saw him coming out of Knockturn Alley the other day," George said. "And I dunno, he seemed sort of . . . furtive."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Almost everyone who goes either into or out of Knockturn Alley looks furtive, George. It's a dodgy place."

"I know, but there was something about him," George said. "He looked frightened. Like something or someone was after him, you know? I remember thinking at the time he must be up to something. And after all, he's an Apothecary. He deals in potions, doesn't he?"

Harry thought for a minute. "I'll look into it. But what I'm really looking for is some kind of connection to McLaggen. As I said, he's probably not the main problem, but I think he's the key to finding out who is. If I knew who's been helping him . . ."

"Harry, I just thought of something, too," said Ron. "I only heard about it this morning, but there's a definite connection with McLaggen. You knew they were looking for a new Potions Master at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded. Horace Slughorn had retired for the second and, considering his advanced age, undoubtedly last time. Since then the school had been advertising for a new Potions Master, but had so far been unsuccessful. "Have they finally hired someone?" asked Harry.

"Yeah," said Ron. "You remember Blaise Zabini?"

Harry frowned. Zabini, a dark-skinned Slytherin with slanting eyes, had been at Hogwarts at the same time as Harry and Ron. Harry recalled that Zabini's mother, a famously beautiful witch, had long been suspected of poisoning seven husbands, each of whom had left her significant amounts of gold. This all by itself, however, did not make Zabini a suspect.

"I don't understand," Harry said. "What connection are you talking about?"

"The Slug Club," said Ron. "McLaggen was in it too, wasn't he?"

Something clicked in Harry's mind. It was significant, he felt sure, but it refused to come to the surface. It was as though something long buried was dancing like a will-o-the-wisp in the dim recesses of his memory, tantalizingly close but just out of reach. Harry had the feeling it had to do with the club formed by the former Potions Master, but he could not say precisely what it was. He had himself been a member of that club, a collection of favorites whom Slughorn believed for a variety of reasons, many of them insane in Harry's opinion, had the potential to become influential in later life. Slughorn had certainly missed the boat with McLaggen, but if Zabini was good enough at potions that Hogwarts had hired him to teach the subject. . .

Something was wrong with the picture forming in Harry's mind, but he still couldn't say what it was. The little niggling thought that had flared momentarily flickered once more, but he couldn't quite grab hold of it. Harry shook his head. There was probably no true connection, but considering just how little else there was to go on, it couldn't hurt to talk to Zabini.

"I think I'll take a trip out to Hogwarts," Harry said. "Talk with McGonagall and Zabini too, if he's around. In the meantime, if you hear or see anything, let me know right away, would you?"

"Sure, Harry," said Ron.

"I'll definitely keep _my_ ear to the ground," added George, tapping the spot over his missing one.

Harry stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "Thanks. And thank you both for. . .well, you know."

Ron put an arm around Harry's shoulders. Almost at the same moment, George did the same. "We're behind you, mate," Ron said in a heartfelt voice that made his ears go bright red. "We're one hundred percent, absolutely, unequivocally behind you. Aren't we, George?"

"That's right," George agreed. "After all, what are brothers for?"

_**A/N:**__ Just a note to let you know that I'm accepting anonymous reviews now. I'll post Chapter Six as soon as possible. In the meantime, thanks for reading and be sure to leave a review . . . they're my substitute for sex!_


	6. Chapter 6

**The Letter**

**Chapter Six**

Olive Ollivander had the same eerie, moon-like eyes as her grandfather, who never really recovered from the injuries he sustained at Malfoy Manor. Tragically, Mr. Ollivander had died, but his business was inherited by his granddaughter whom he had personally instructed in wand lore from the time she was a small child, and now sold wands of the same superior quality.

"I'm not familiar with Ash," said Ginny, when Miss Ollivander handed James a wand made of Ash, twelve and three-quarter inches long, containing a single hair from a particularly fine young male unicorn, and asked him to give it a wave. "What are its qualities?"

"It is said to help the user achieve focus and discipline," Miss Ollivander replied. "It's also excellent for charms work, and it is quite famed for its protective qualities."

"Protective?" said Harry. "In what way?"

"The usual protections against dark magic," Miss Ollivander said. "And it offers security against powerful storms."

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look as Miss Ollivander turned to James, who was waving his new wand like a conductor with a baton, producing a shower of red and gold sparks. "Does this suit you, young man?"

"Yeah!" James exclaimed. Then, after a look from his mother, he amended, "It suits me very well, thank you."

The wand inspired envy in James's younger siblings, as did his new owl for whom he desired a heroic name. He flirted fearfully with Theseus for awhile, but finally settled on Nestor. Being James, he couldn't seem to stop himself from rubbing his brother's and sister's noses in it, and Ginny and Harry had to endure several days of sulking from their younger children, who didn't think it fair that James had gotten so many new things. It was no good explaining that they'd get the same things when their own turns came, and several fights erupted when James persisted in flaunting his new possessions. Harry came upon such a battle when he arrived home one evening two days after their trip to Diagon Alley.

"How many times do I have to tell you, it is _not_ a toy!" he heard Ginny shouting the minute he came through the door. "If I ever catch either one of you using a wand like that again. . ."

"It's _my _wand and _he_ took it!" James shouted back. "And look, he's got fingerprints all over it!"

Harry stepped into the sitting room just in time to see James push Albus, causing him to fall backward over a footstool. Just before he hit the ground, Albus tackled James around the shins. They were rolling around on the floor, punching each other, when Ginny separated them with a flick of her own wand.

"What's going on?" Harry demanded.

"Al took James' wand," Ginny tried to explain, but Albus cut her off.

"I just wanted to _see_ it! He wouldn't even let me _hold_ it and kept waving it right under my nose!"

James eyed him spitefully, nursing a cut lip. "Hard to miss when you've got such a big nose."

"Well, _you've_ got a big mouth!"

"Yeah? Well, you've got a tiny, little . . ."

"_Enough_!" snapped Ginny. "Both of you go to your rooms and stay there until I tell you to come out! And _I'll_ keep this!" she added, pocketing the new wand.

"But it's _mine_!" James shrieked.

"You'll get it back if and when you can behave responsibly," Ginny informed him. "Go! Now! _Both _of you!"

Harry watched the boys climb the stairs, shooting hideous looks at one another all the way. He turned to Ginny, who demanded to know, "Why do we have all these children?"

"Rough day?" said Harry, making a wild guess.

"You could say that. Would you like a drink before dinner? Because _I'm_ certainly having one!"

"I'd like that, thanks," said Harry. "Where's Lily?"

"In the nursery, playing with her dollhouse," Ginny replied, referring to a marvelous dollhouse Lily had received from her grandparents the previous Christmas. The dolls actually walked and talked, prepared meals, carried baskets of laundry up and down stairs, and otherwise behaved like a normal family. The adult dolls even had miniature wands that emitted tiny sparks, and the children zoomed around on diminutive toy brooms.

"How was your trip to Hogwarts?" asked Ginny, when they had settled down with glasses of Elf-made wine. "Did you talk to Zabini?"

"He wasn't there," Harry replied. "I'll probably go back if I haven't made progress on any other fronts. Hagrid wasn't there either. He's still in France on his annual visit with Madame Maxime."

Ginny smiled. "Those two! After all these years, you'd think Hagrid would have finally worked up enough nerve to pop the question." She took a sip of her drink. "Did you see Neville at all?"

"I did, as a matter of fact. He's already hard at work in the greenhouses, getting ready for the new term. What is this now, his third or fourth year teaching Herbology?"

Ginny thought for a minute. "His fourth, I think. Has he heard from Professor Sprout lately?"

"He didn't say, but he is using one of her books for his classes this year," said Harry, who had noted the fact that James' book list included an herbology text by Pomona Sprout.

Neville's appointment to the Hogwarts staff was only one of many changes that had taken place in recent years. Professor Sprout, who had left teaching to pursue a life-long dream of studying exotic magical plants in the tropics, had since published several books detailing her discoveries, and herbology classes were now being taught by her protégé, Neville Longbottom. The job of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had meanwhile gone to another old classmate and fellow Dumbledore's Army member, Ernie McMillan who, though still rather pompous, had proven to be a good teacher who was fond of relaying to his students the role he had played in the Battle of Hogwarts. With McGonagall as headmistress, Transfiguration was being taught by a witch named Andora Dimbleby, a rather long-necked woman with a wide mouth and very fair skin who could turn herself into a pelican. Professor Dimbleby had recently agreed to serve as Head of Ravenclaw when Professor Flitwick retired at the end of the school year, as Harry learned during his meeting with McGonagall that afternoon.

"Professor Flitwick is retiring too?" Harry said when Professor McGonagall informed him of his old Charms teacher's decision. "But I just assumed . . . He's been deputy headmaster since the school reopened after the war, and I thought. . ."

"I hoped he might consider it as well," McGonagall admitted. "But I understand his reasoning. Filius is only a few years younger than me, after all."

"_Younger_?" said Harry in surprise, for tiny Professor Flitwick had always seemed ancient to him. "Sorry, I just always assumed he was older than you."

Professor McGonagall's lips twitched in her usual simulation of a smile. "That's very gallant of you, Harry, but no, Filius is younger, though frankly, we are both feeling our years."

"Professor Dumbledore was older than you are now when I first knew him," Harry pointed out.

"That was Professor Dumbledore," McGonagall said, glancing at the portrait behind her chair where Albus Dumbledore's silvery hair and beard reflected in the sunlight from the window. "Albus was in a class by himself."

"Nonsense, Minerva," said the portrait-Dumbledore. "You've been an exemplary headmistress. Hogwarts could not have been rebuilt, let alone reopened so soon after the war without your steady hand at the helm."

"Oh, go on with you!" McGonagall replied brusquely, though Harry noticed her heightened color. "The fact is that I am an old woman and Filius is no spring chicken himself. He will be a great loss to the school, but it really is time for the older generation to step aside and make way for new blood. I have already asked the Board of Governors to consider Septima Vector as my replacement once my retirement takes effect next summer."

"The Arithmancy teacher?" said Harry. "Hermione will be delighted. She always liked Professor Vector."

"She is an extremely competent teacher and will make an excellent headmistress," McGonagall said, as though this settled the matter. "The school will have to hire a new Charms teacher, of course, and if the Governors accept Professor Vector, there will also be a vacancy in Arithmancy. But we've already been fortunate enough to find someone to take Horace Slughorn's place. I suppose you heard about Blaise Zabini? He was in your year at Hogwarts, I believe."

"Actually, Professor, he's the reason I'm here. If you have no objection, I'd like to talk to . . .er. . . Professor Zabini."

"He isn't here, Harry," said McGonagall. "He had some business to attend to before reporting for duty, but I do expect him next week." She paused briefly. "May I take it, by your question, that you are here in an official capacity? That this is more than just a social call?"

Harry did not answer. He didn't have to. "Is he under some sort of suspicion?" McGonagall asked. "Can you tell me that much?"

Harry delayed for a moment before answering. "At the moment, no. Professor, how much do you know about Zabini?"

McGonagall looked surprised. "He was thoroughly vetted before we offered him the position, of course. There was no history of any wrongdoing, if that's what you're asking."

"No history of any associations with Dark Wizards?" Harry persisted.

"There was that unfortunate business with his mother, but he can hardly be held accountable for that. Nothing was ever proven against her, in any case, and surely you don't believe the sins of the father, or in this case the mother, should be visited on the son?"

"What Potter is saying, Minerva," said a slow, drawling voice, "is that Zabini is automatically suspect because he is a former Slytherin."

Harry looked up at the sallow face of the greasy-haired former Potions Master who glared down at him from the smaller portrait next to Dumbledore. "What are you saying, Severus?" McGonagall asked tartly.

"Only that Potter is displaying the same prejudice he has often accused the Slytherins of perpetuating," said the portrait-Snape in the same silky voice with which he once tormented Harry.

"We Slytherins have always been treated with suspicion by those from other Houses," said the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. "It is part of the price we pay for our achievements."

"This from the House that has produced more Dark Wizards than any other," sniffed the portrait of Dexter Fortesque, another celebrated Hogwarts headmaster. "If that's what you call _achievements_, Phineas . . ."

"Do you _mind_?" said Professor McGonagall, clearly tired of this banter. "And Severus, you should be ashamed of yourself! Your portrait wouldn't be here at all if it wasn't for Harry."

This was true enough. Snape had initially been denied a place among the portraits of other Hogwarts headmasters, for aside from the fact that many believed him guilty of murdering his predecessor, there was also the problem of his having abandoned his post before his death. Harry, however, had offered testimony that explained Snape's actions and forced the Board of Governors to reconsider their decision. It was something Snape might have remembered, Harry thought resentfully, before accusing him of bias.

"Severus, I must agree with Minerva," said Dumbledore.

"Of course _you_ would agree, Dumbledore," Snape replied coolly.

"Come now, Severus," said Dumbledore, whose eyes twinkled over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "You don't really believe Harry guilty of such prejudice. After all, he did name one of his sons after a former Slytherin."

"Actually, Dumbledore, he named the boy after _you_," Snape said, though the thin mouth twitched. "I only rated a middle name and it's a dubious honor at best. To hear _my_ name combined with Potter. . ."

"That will do, Severus," McGonagall said wearily. "Harry, I have no objection to your questioning one of my teachers, but should it come to more than that, I hope you will let me know in advance of any . . . unpleasantness?"

"Of course, Professor."

"And Harry, I do wish you'd call me Minerva. I haven't been your teacher for some time, and I'd like to think, after all these years, that we are friends."

Harry, who could never quite bring himself to call his former professor by her first name, said only, "Of course we are."

Harry had just finished telling Ginny about his meeting with McGonagall when Kreacher came shuffling in to announce, "Dinner will be served in half an hour, Mistress."

"Thank you, Kreacher," Ginny said. She waited until Kreacher had gone before saying, "Did you tell her anything about our situation?"

Harry shook his head. "You haven't changed your mind?" said Ginny. "You still don't think he should go?"

Harry sighed. "Ginny, I wish with all my heart that I could say otherwise, but I just don't think we can afford to take the chance."

Ginny poured herself another drink, but sat without drinking it, gazing moodily into the fire. "How are we ever going to tell him?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought that far myself."

She fell silent again. Now it was Harry's turn to stare at the fire. He watched a log break apart, sending forth a shower of sizzling sparks. "Is this the way it's going to be from now on?" Ginny said. "What if McLaggen is never caught? Do we lock all the children in their rooms and never let them out, like those poor lions at that awful Muggle zoo last summer?"

Harry winced. The Potters had taken a holiday in Spain the previous summer, and in the course of their travels they passed a small, out-of-the-way zoo. When Ginny confessed that she had never been to one, Harry decided to take her and the children. He had once been to a zoo himself with his aunt and uncle, and it might have been a pleasant outing were it not for the fact that he accidentally set a boa constrictor on his cousin. Harry thought his own children might enjoy it, and they seemed to do so, but Ginny was appalled that Muggles found amusement in staring at wild animals locked up in cages. She was particularly disturbed by the lions, who paced back and forth in their confined spaces, those beautiful, proud creatures with their rippling muscles and powerful limbs, endlessly pacing. It was the only life they had ever known or were ever likely to know, and Ginny was upset for a week afterward. Harry recalled that she had always been fond of cats, and the big cats haunted her dreams. Seen through her eyes, Harry could hardly blame her, and the comparison she had just drawn to their own children was disquieting.

Dinner was subdued that evening. The boys, who had been released from their rooms with the understanding that they were on probation, ate their steak-and-kidney pie in silence, even going so far as to refrain from kicking one another under the table as they usually did. Lily chattered on for awhile about an invitation to a tea party she had received that day from her cousin Prudence, one of Percy and Penelope's two daughters, but soon the restrained atmosphere affected her too and she went as quiet as her brothers.

Kreacher had done his usual superb job with the meal, but Harry could not do it justice. He kept glancing at James as a mental debate raged inside his head. Things weren't the way they'd been when he was at school. There were no more Death Eaters or Dementors spreading terror everywhere, people weren't being killed every day, and the wizarding world no longer cowered in fear behind locked doors and protective charms. Life was far from perfect, but it was safer now, not least of all because Harry himself had helped _make_ it that way! He had given everything to that end, even to sacrificing his own life. What was it all for, what had it ever been about, if the only result was more fear? Besides, didn't everyone always say that Hogwarts was one of the safest places on earth? The same enchantments were still in place. The protections remained around the castle and grounds. Surely James would be safe at Hogwarts. After all, he, Harry, had survived and he had been a target the entire time he was there. But there had been so many times when he nearly hadn't. So many times when, but for the timely intervention of a friend or auspicious circumstances, Harry would not be sitting here at the head of this table, and the brown, black, and red-haired children sitting between him and Ginny would never have been born.

Harry pushed his half-eaten food around his plate. He didn't want to put his lion cubs in cages. He didn't want them to live in fear either, for he had lived that way himself far too long. But it was different this time. This time it wasn't about him. This time the lives of his children were at stake, and their lives meant infinitely more to Harry than his own. He didn't want them to fight dragons, he didn't want them to battle Dementors, he didn't want them to face even a fraction of the dangers he himself endured. What Harry wanted for James, Al, and Lily was nothing more than he had always longed for himself, a secure place in the world, a home and family, and above all protection from that which no child should ever see. Harry didn't want to imprison them or keep them from the normal bumps and bruises of childhood, but as long as it was within his power to prevent it, he didn't want his children to see Thestrals.

After dinner Harry went to his study to catch up on some of the paperwork he'd been neglecting. He hadn't gotten far, however, when James popped his head in and said, "Dad?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, James?"

James came in clutching his wand, which he had apparently persuaded his mother to return, though not, Harry was sure, without conditions. "Could I see your wand?" James asked.

"_My_ wand?" said Harry. "Why?"

"I just want to, you know, compare it with mine. Is that okay?"

Harry reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out the Holly and Phoenix feather wand, laying it on the desk in front of him. James laid his own wand beside it. The Ash wand was longer than Harry's and obviously much newer, but James picked up his father's wand and held it with a kind of reverence.

"Is this the one?" he asked in a voice so quiet Harry had to lean closer to hear him. "The one that you . . . well, you know?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't know," Harry replied. "What are you asking, James?"

James looked around furtively, as though someone might be eavesdropping. "The one that you . . .killed _him_ with?"

Harry stared at him. "I assume you're referring to Lord Voldemort. Or Tom Riddle, as he was also known."

James's head bobbed up and down like a cork. Well, here it was, Harry thought. Despite knowing it was coming, he still wasn't sure what to say.

"I didn't kill him, James," Harry said, deciding to opt for the simplest version of the truth. "I don't know what you've heard, but I didn't kill Voldemort."

James blinked. "But. . . I thought . . ."

"He tried to kill _me_ and I defended myself," Harry explained. "The curse rebounded and killed him instead."

James regarded him through narrowed eyes. Clearly, he thought his father was hedging. "Everyone says you killed him. Everyone says you're a hero."

"People have said a lot of things about me, not all of them true. Lord Voldemort killed himself. I'm sorry if it disappoints you, but that's what happened."

James did, in fact, look disappointed. "Have all those people been lying?"

Harry took off his glasses and gave them a polish to give himself time to think of what to say. How to explain something he barely understood himself? But he owed it to James to at least try.

"I don't know if I'd call it lying exactly. The thing is, James, he killed my parents. He killed a lot of people I cared about, and if I could have killed him I probably would have. That wasn't what happened, though. Voldemort was an evil man, and like most evil men he planted the seeds of his own destruction. In the end, it was easier to let him destroy himself."

James was confused, Harry could see that. He searched for a better way to explain, something James could understand. "A very wise man once told me that tyrants always fear those they oppress. What this means is that people who do terrible things are always afraid, and killing is terrible, even though there are times when it can't be avoided. There are times when one is forced to kill to defend oneself or others, but that doesn't make it any less terrible. Killing someone doesn't make you a hero, James. Voldemort killed a lot of people and he wasn't heroic. But if you can spare someone else a little pain or suffering, then I think you've done a heroic thing. I don't think of myself as a hero, I never have. But if there are those who think of me that way, then I hope it's because I prevented others from being hurt. Or at least I tried. I didn't always succeed, but I did try."

James laid the Phoenix wand back on the desk. "It may not make sense to you now," Harry went on. "But someday I think it will. In the meantime, whenever you hear things that bother or confuse you, whether it's about me or anyone else, come and ask me about it. I may not be able to answer everything you want to know all the time, but I'll never lie to you, James. Not ever. All right?"

James gave his father a hesitant smile. Harry smiled back, but before he could say more, Ginny appeared at the door. "Oh, there you are, James, I wondered where you'd got to. Harry, Ron's just popped his head in. He wants to talk to you."

Harry went to the sitting room where Ron's head peered out of the fireplace, his vivid hair almost indistinguishable from the flames. "I hate communicating this way," he grumbled, as Harry knelt on the hearth. "My knees are killing me. I would have just flooed over, but Hermione thought you might still be at dinner and she . . ."

"What's up, Ron?" asked Harry.

"You told me to let you know if I saw anything unusual," Ron replied. "Well, this afternoon I did. I saw Zabini."

Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. "Zabini? Where?"

"I saw him go into Knockturn Alley. I tried following him, but he had already disappeared by the time I got there. Either that or he spotted me and ducked into a shop somewhere. This damned Weasley hair is like a bloody bonfire . . ."

"Did you see the direction he was going?" Harry asked. "Did he talk to anyone? Was he _with _anyone?"

Ron shook his head, causing sparks to fly up his nose, which made him sneeze. "No," he said, once he stopped sneezing. "I just had a glimpse of him before he vanished. I know it was him, though, and I did a little asking around. I found out he's staying at the Leaky Cauldron. He's been there for the past two days apparently."

Harry was on his feet before Ron finished speaking. "Hey!" Ron exclaimed. "Where are you going?"

"I have to get a message to Scrimgeour," he called back over his shoulder. "Thanks, Ron. You've been a big help!"

So Zabini was in Knockturn Alley, Harry thought grimly as he rushed back to his study for quill and parchment. Did this have anything to do with the "business" he told McGonagall about? Harry didn't know, but it all seemed a little too coincidental to him and he didn't believe much in coincidences. Perhaps it was time to discover just what Zabini's "business" was all about. In fact, before the sun went down on another day, Harry wanted to know precisely what Zabini ate for breakfast.

_**A/N:**__ There's a lot of backstory in this chapter, but the pace should pick up again in the next one. And for those of you who think Harry is being totally obnoxious about not letting James go to Hogwarts, please be patient – there is a method to my madness, I swear! Please take just a minute to leave a review, and thanks for reading!_


	7. Chapter 7

**THE LETTER**

**Chapter Seven**

Harry finished reading the report that had just been placed on his desk and flung it down with a sense of outrage. He went to the door of his office and called out over the rows of cubicles: "Scrimgeour! I'd like a word!"

Rowan Scrimgeour came into Harry's office with his usual loping gait and sat in the chair his boss indicated. He looked nervous, as well he might. Harry rarely called subordinates by their surnames unless they had done something to thoroughly tick him off.

"What is this?" asked Harry, indicating the sheet of parchment in front of him.

"It's the report you asked for on Blaise Zabini," Scrimgeour replied.

"I asked for a _report_," Harry said irritably. "Not four bloody paragraphs! Tell me something, Scrimgeour, is your heart really in this investigation? Because if it isn't, I can take you off the case and put somebody on who actually gives a damn!"

Scrimgeour's face flushed with resentment, but his voice was calm when he said, "Harry, I realize you're under a lot of strain, but you've got me going in a hundred different directions with this case. Every time I turn around you're asking me to check out some new lead even though I'm already up to my bum in whatever it was you asked me to check out the day before. What do you expect?"

"I expect you to do your bloody job!" Harry shouted, jumping to his feet and slamming his hand on his desk. "If you need extra personnel to conduct this investigation properly, then let me know so I can get it for you. But don't bring me this kind of half-arsed excuse when I ask you to conduct a background search!"

Scrimgeour flushed an even deeper shade of red, and Harry sat down, breathing hard. "Now, have you found out anything at all about that Apothecary I asked you to investigate, Claude Attor?

"As a matter of fact, I have," said Scrimgeour, who no longer troubled himself to hide his own anger. "He's disappeared."

"Disappeared? What do you mean disappeared? How can he have disappeared?"

"I couldn't say how," Scrimgeour replied coolly. "But no one has seen him for at least a week."

Harry frowned. "Hold on. He was seen in Knockturn Alley less than a week ago. I told you. . ."

"I followed up on that lead," Scrimgeour interrupted before Harry could build up a full head of steam. "I even went to the joke shop to speak to George Weasley myself. He told me that he wasn't sure exactly when he saw Attor. He thought it was a few days before he talked to you, but it might have been longer. And before you ask, I also spoke to every shopkeeper in Knockturn Alley. Not one of them has seen Attor in the past month. That's not to say he hasn't been there, but no one has any recollection of actually seeing him."

Harry leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He could feel a headache coming on. "I don't suppose Magical Law Enforcement has picked up any trace of McLaggen yet?"

"Not as of this morning," Scrimgeour replied.

So many dead ends, Harry thought, rubbing his temples. All these long, winding roads that seemed to go nowhere. There had to be _something_, there _had_ to be!

"Harry," said Scrimgeour. "I'd like to say something."

Harry looked at him, but Scrimgeour remained silent. "Go on," Harry prompted.

"Right then," said Scrimgeour, taking a deep breath. "I know this situation has been difficult for you. We all know that, which is why everyone has been willing to put up with all the extra hours and so many additional demands. But, if you don't mind my saying so, you haven't made things easier for anyone, yourself included. As a matter of fact, you've been kind of a pain in the arse."

Harry could not be angry. He had always encouraged his staff to speak their minds and this was, he knew, an accurate assessment. Cheeky, perhaps, but nonetheless accurate. Seeing that his observation hadn't gotten him sacked, Scrimgeour went on. "You're too close to this case, Harry, and frankly, I think it's affecting your judgment. You've got us chasing leads that don't make sense. I mean, Claude Attor. . . I don't understand what that's all about."

"Then maybe you're the one whose judgment is slipping," said Harry. "I sent you out to investigate a possible connection between Attor and McLaggen. The next thing we know Attor vanishes."

"Harry, I _told _you, Attor disappeared over a week ago, _before _you asked me to start looking into a possible connection. It's an interesting coincidence, I suppose, but in my opinion that's all it is: a coincidence. For all we know, Attor went on holiday and forgot to tell anyone. He lives alone and that business of his pretty much runs itself. He could be sunning himself in Majorca right now. Why not?"

"Or he could have disappeared to the same place McLaggen has," Harry persisted.

Scrimgeour looked exasperated. "We haven't found any connection between Attor and McLaggen. As far as I've been able to determine, there isn't one. And now this thing with Zabini . . . you haven't even bothered to explain that one. Is he supposed to have something to do with the case? Is there a connection between him and McLaggen? Harry, I can't help thinking I could do a better job of getting the information you want if I understood the rationale behind it."

Harry said nothing because the truth was, he could not explain his reasoning. It was instinctive, almost an extra sense that all these things were connected. In what way they were connected he could not say, but experience had taught him that fluttery sensation in his gut was worthy of attention. That feeling was telling him something was there, even though he couldn't see it yet.

"It may not be my place to suggest this," Scrimgeour said. "But it might be good idea for you to go away for awhile. Take your family and just . . . leave the country or something. Just get away until it all blows over."

Harry scowled. "What makes you so sure McLaggen's still in the country? I wouldn't be, if I were him."

"Nobody knows where he is. That's the problem, isn't it? But for your family's safety, not to mention your own peace of mind, you ought to think about it."

Harry's brows knit together. He recognized a certain sound reasoning behind Scrimgeour's argument. Had it been anyone else, Harry probably would have insisted they recuse themselves from further involvement. Unfortunately, Scrimgeour was his second-in-command and Harry didn't trust him enough to carry on in his stead. There was something about Scrimgeour, whether it was the old bitterness over losing out for department chief or just an overall attitude that _he_ knew better than anyone else how things should be done, that stuck in Harry's craw. Actually, Scrimgeour reminded him of McLaggen in that regard, or at least what he remembered of McLaggen. The report on his desk was a perfect example. Scrimgeour had a habit of ignoring orders he considered unimportant in favor of those that he felt merited his attention, and Harry did not want to leave someone like that in charge while such an important investigation was underway.

"I'll think about it," Harry said evasively. "In the meantime, see if you find out anything about Attor."

"What about Zabini?"

"You can leave that for the time being," Harry said. "Thank you, Rowan. That's all for now."

Scrimgeour left the door slightly ajar behind him. Harry heard him joking with Calpurnia and had to repress a swell of annoyance at the sound of laughter. Scrimgeour had an irritating, high-pitched laugh, like a hyena in Harry's opinion, but it really didn't take much to irritate him these days. Scrimgeour was right about that. He'd been biting people's heads off and there was really no excuse for it, except for the fact that he was frustrated beyond belief by the lack of progress in this wretched case. On a whim, Harry spread out the entire case file on his desk, searching for the connection he was certain existed among all these apparently disconnected pieces. Maybe Scrimgeour was right. Maybe he _was_ too close to the case and it was preventing him from seeing what was right in front of him. Harry could not recall the last time he'd felt so discouraged. Unless it was the time all those years ago when he was searching for Voldemort's elusive Horcruxes with Ron and Herm. . .

Harry's head jerked up. Of course. If anyone could make sense out of these seemingly random bits, it was Hermione. He shoved everything back into the folder and set off across the hall. Hermione's secretary wasn't at her desk, so he rapped on the door until a soft, "Come in!" bade him enter.

Harry poked his head through the door. "Can you spare a minute?"

Hermione smiled, a quill poised in mid-air over a roll of parchment. "I can spare two, if it's important."

He plopped himself in a chair and looked around. On one side of the desk, file folders were lined up with near-geometric precision. On the other, moving photographs of Ron, Rose, and Hugo smiled and waved out of their frames. A flowering plant bloomed on a credenza beneath an enchanted window that showed an inviting vista of gently rolling hills bathed in sunlight. Had Harry not been aware they were several stories beneath central London, he might have assumed the Ministry was located on a quiet country lane.

"I need your help, Hermione," said Harry, setting the large, messy folder on the pristine surface of her desk. "It's the whole McLaggen business. I feel like the answer is right in front of me and I just can't see it. I thought your powers of cool, deductive reasoning might help me make sense of it all."

"Of course, Harry," Hermione said. "I'll do anything I can, you know that."

Harry launched into a detailed explanation while Hermione leafed through the information he had collected, sorting everything into neat piles. "So what you're saying," Hermione said when Harry began to wind down, "is that you think there's a connection between Attor, Zabini, and McLaggen? Tell me, Harry, what is this theory based on?"

"There's no concrete evidence," Harry admitted. "Just a series of coincidences and . . . well, you'll probably laugh at this, but it's really just a gut feeling that it's all connected."

Hermione did not laugh. "I learned long ago not to laugh at your 'gut feelings,' Harry. Your instincts nearly always turn out to have some basis in fact."

Harry was grateful to her for saying it. "Do you see any pattern? Is there anything I'm missing in all this that might be more than mere coincidence or instinct?"

"I'll have to look more carefully through this file, of course. But there is one obvious connection I'm surprised you haven't mentioned."

"Really?" said Harry. "What's that?"

"Family relationships," Hermione said. "All the old pureblood families are related, and all three of these men come from old pureblood families. As a matter of fact, Zabini and this Claude Attor are some sort of cousins. I can't recall the exact relationship, but I'm almost positive they're cousins."

Harry expelled a deep breath as though he'd been holding it in for a long time. It wasn't much to go on, but it was something. "What about McLaggen? Do you know of any connection there?"

Hermione looked thoughtful. "No, I don't. Of course there's Ron's theory about the Slug Club, but I can't remember Cormac ever saying anything about Zabini."

"You mean during the one date you had with him in our sixth year?" Harry said in a gently teasing tone. "Slughorn's Christmas party, wasn't it? As I recall, there wasn't much opportunity for in-depth chats. You ditched him about ten minutes into the thing."

"Actually," said Hermione, "I did have one other opportunity to talk to him."

Harry's laughter died. "When?"

Hermione's face had gone an interesting shade of puce. "It was a long time ago, before Ron and I were married. We'd just had a spectacular row over some silly thing, I can't even remember what it was about now. Well, no, I _do_ remember: I caught him trying to chat up some barmaid. Of course it didn't mean anything. He doesn't even realize he's doing it half the time, and I _knew_ that, but I lost my temper anyway and told him that if he considered himself a free agent, then I would too and . . . well, you know what things were like between us back then."

Unfortunately, Harry did. The course of true love never ran smoothly for Ron and Hermione, but their actual courtship had been a nightmare, marked by frequent arguments and occasional broken crockery. Harry and Ginny were often unwilling witnesses to these battles while Ron and Hermione's two very different personalities struggled to find common ground. The craziest part of it was that they were crazy about each other, but when Hermione decided she wanted to get married, a recalcitrant Ron dug in his heels. The problem seemed to be that Ron didn't want to be roped into anything, and Harry found this particularly hard to understand, for he was having the opposite problem with Ginny.

Shortly after her seventeenth birthday, Ginny received an offer from the Holyhead Harpies. Harry hadn't been thrilled with this turn of events, but in the face of her determination he put his dreams of domestic bliss on hold in order to cheer her on. He attended every one of her matches until a bludger injury landed her in hospital and reduced Harry to a quivering mass of near hysteria. The healers at St. Mungo's had been hard-pressed to decide who actually needed their ministrations more, Harry or Ginny, and the Weasleys were astonished to see Harry, usually so calm, cool, and collected in a crisis, in such a panic. Harry's sense of impending doom had never been stronger than when he feared that all his brightest hopes would be shattered before they ever reached fruition. But the injury turned out not to be serious, and when Ginny saw the state Harry was in, she realized that putting off something she had dreamed of herself since she was ten years old no longer made any sense. They began making wedding plans, but this only seemed to increase the pressure on Ron and Hermione.

Ginny and Harry once more found themselves caught in the cross-fire while Hermione pushed for a commitment and Ron continued to dither. Harry never knew what happened to change things, but one day Ron turned up, grinning like a maniac, and announced that he and Hermione were engaged. Harry hadn't liked to ask how it came about, mostly because he was afraid Ron might actually _tell_ him. Now, however, he had a feeling he was about to hear the whole gruesome story in all its sordid detail, and he braced himself while Hermione geared herself up for the telling.

"You know what Ron has always been like," Hermione began. "It took him forever just to realize he fancied me and almost as long to do anything about it. Come to think of it, he _didn't _actually do anything. I was the one who made the first move. Remember?

"Vaguely," said Harry, who recalled with excruciating clarity his difficulty in persuading Ron and Hermione to leave off snogging each other in the middle of a freaking WAR!

"Well, I didn't think he was ever going to catch fire," Hermione continued. "And I thought drastic times called for drastic measures, if you know what I mean."

"Sorry, no," said Harry, who was looking at the floor, the ceiling, the desk, his shoes, anywhere but Hermione.

"Ron was still waffling on the whole marriage issue when I just happened to run into Cormac in the Atrium one afternoon. He was at the Ministry visiting a friend, apparently, and he started to sort of, you know, flirt with me. And it just hit me all of a sudden that Ron was feeling a little too smug about us, and maybe if I wasn't such a sure thing . . ."

Harry felt his jaw drop. "You didn't?"

Hermione covered her burning face with her hands. "This is _so_ embarrassing!"

"Have you no shame at all, woman?" demanded Harry, who could not believe she had stooped to using Cormac bloody McLaggen to make Ron jealous, not just once, but twice!

"All's fair in love and war," Hermione replied defensively. "Besides, it wasn't a big thing. I just invited him to meet me at that pub Ron used to hang round all the time. Do you remember _The Happy Hippogriff_?"

Harry nodded and Hermione went on. "Anyway, Ron was late turning up that night. By the time he arrived, Cormac and I were sitting at one of those little tables in the corner with our heads close together so we could hear each other over the crowd. That place was always so noisy. . ."

Harry, who now felt an irresistable curiosity, said, "What did Ron do?"

Hermione's face was so red she looked as if she was running a high and dangerous fever. "He marched straight up to McLaggen, grabbed hold of his robes, and lamped him in front of the entire pub."

Harry couldn't help laughing. He could so picture it! "Good for Ron!"

"It _was_ rather brilliant," Hermione conceded. "Of course that led to another spectacular row, but finally he dragged me off and . . . well, suffice it to say that by the end of the evening we were, er, engaged."

Now Harry's face was red. "Did, uh, McLaggen ever say who this 'friend' was that he was visiting at the Ministry?"

"No, he never said anything about that," said Hermione, snapping out of her reverie and becoming businesslike once more. "Or Zabini or Attor, for that matter. But it shouldn't be too difficult to find out if there's any family connections. I have a few contacts I'd be happy to tap into, if you like."

"I'd appreciate it a lot. I'd ask some of my own people, but they're really overstretched." Besides, Harry thought, Hermione he could trust. "If you find anything in that file, and I mean _anything_, Hermione . . ."

"I'll let you know straight away," she promised, standing to accept the hug he'd come around the desk to give her. "And I'll get this back to you as soon as I've had a chance to give it all a really thorough read-through."

Harry left Hermione's office feeling a little more optimistic than when he arrived. Unfortunately, he also felt that he now knew _way_ too much about his best friends, and was so lost in a number of private thoughts that he collided with Calpurnia in the hall.

"Mr. Potter!" she exclaimed when they had both righted themselves. "Forgive me, sir! I didn't mean. . ."

"It's my fault, Calpurnia," Harry said. "I wasn't paying attention. Were you looking for me?"

"Yes, sir. You have a visitor. He's waiting in the outer office."

"A visitor?" said Harry, and strode across the hall to see who it was. He stopped on the threshold as his guest turned from a painting of a group of knights on horseback who were apparently in the middle of an animated discussion about the best ways to remove tarnish from iron mail. Harry stared at the tall, thin man, swathed from head to foot in black robes and a long black traveling cloak that combined with his dark skin to give him the appearance of an oversized raven. He smiled at the look of stunned disbelief on Harry's face and inclined his head in a kind of mocking salute.

"Hello, Potter," said Blaise Zabini. "Long time no see."

_**A/N:**__ Thanks again to all of you who have left reviews. I'm always delighted to read them and hope you'll take the time to share your thoughts on this chapter as well. _


	8. Chapter 8

**THE LETTER**

_**A/N:**__ Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, but this was a difficult section to write, as a lot of clues had to be included that will be important later on. I hope it doesn't leave anyone too confused, but if it does, just keep reading . . . all will be revealed in the fullness of time!_

**Chapter Eight**

Harry stared, unblinking, for what felt like years. Finally realizing that he was standing there with his mouth open, an attitude that might have been described as uncouth, he snapped it shut and said, "Zabini."

"Correct, Potter," said Zabini.

Harry blinked his way back to life. "What . . . how. . . Er, won't you come into my office?"

Zabini's smile broadened, amused by his host's discomfiture, and followed Harry into the office, taking one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Harry sat down behind the desk and studied his guest with a critical eye. He'd last seen Zabini running for the exits, along with all the other Slytherins, during the Battle of Hogwarts. It had not, perhaps, been his finest hour, but even Harry had to admit that he cut an impressive figure now. Zabini had always been handsome, but time had added a cool elegance and subtle grace that combined with a studied insouciance to make Harry feel a little defensive.

"To what do I owe the, er, honor of this unexpected visit?" Harry asked.

Zabini lifted a brow. "I should have thought that would be obvious."

"Sorry," said Harry, shrugging. "I have no idea."

"Oh? Then you aren't responsible for the fact that Aurors have been asking questions about me all over London?"

Damn Scrimgeour, Harry thought irritably. Did the man have no concept of discretion? There were ways to investigate people without alerting the entire wizarding community, but Scrimgeour had apparently skived off that lesson during Auror training.

"My Aurors ask questions for a variety of reasons," Harry said evasively. "Wizards who hang round Knockturn Alley, for example, tend to be of particular interest."

"Oh, is that a crime now?" said Zabini. "It's so hard to keep up with all the new laws these days, especially with Mudbloods like that Granger in positions of power at the Ministry. Oh, but it's Granger-Weasley now isn't it? The Mudblood and the blood traitor. Truly a match made in heaven. Or thereabouts."

Harry controlled his temper with difficulty. "You haven't changed, Zabini."

"Why, thank you, Potter! Nor have you."

"I wasn't paying you a compliment."

"Neither was I." Zabini smiled again. "So we aren't going to fall in love, are we? Be that as it may, I couldn't help wondering if there was a specific reason for your interest in me. Or has this merely been an exercise in morbid curiosity?"

"There's a wizard who's gone missing." Bless you, Hermione, Harry thought. "He's a relative of yours, I believe."

"Is _that_ what this is all about? Poor old Claude?" Zabini actually laughed, which Harry found annoying in the extreme.

"Attor is your cousin?" Harry said in an effort to maintain a semblance of control.

"First cousin once removed on my mother's side," Zabini explained. "Actually, by some strange serendipity, he's the reason I was in Knockturn Alley."

"Is that the sort of place you and your cousin usually meet?"

"It might be difficult for a career bureaucrat like you to understand, Potter," said Zabini, with an air of maddening superiority, "but my cousin is an accomplished businessman who takes his responsibility to his clients seriously. The diverse array of products he offers does occasionally require doing business with, shall we say, the less savory elements of his profession?"

"How is it you know so much about your cousin's business? I understood you worked for a firm that makes medicinal potions for wholesale distribution."

Zabini lifted an eyebrow. "I apprenticed at Claude's shop in Diagon Alley early in my career. Surely your sources told you about that?"

Harry felt his face grow hot and damned Scrimgeour again. The report had mentioned Zabini's employment prior to his Hogwarts appointment, but there had been nothing about an apprenticeship with Attor, and, as the Apothecary was also under investigation, this seemed a significant omission. Harry couldn't help wondering what in the name of Merlin was wrong with Scrimgeour. He had always been truculent, but never guilty of such shoddy work before. Was this just incompetence, or was something else involved?

Making a mental note to have a serious talk with Scrimgeour at the earliest opportunity, Harry said, "What can you tell me about the 'diverse products' your cousin offers?"

"Not a great deal," Zabini replied. "I haven't been directly involved in the business for some time, but I doubt it's anything dangerous or dark. Just a tad more . . . experimental than your average Apothecary generally dabbles in. He's a very gifted man, my cousin. Almost a genius, really."

"I see," said Harry. "And what type of clients buy these 'experimental' potions?"

"I'm afraid I can't help you there either. As I say, I'm no longer directly involved in my cousin's business affairs."

Harry stared at Zabini, whose slanted eyes roamed the office, taking in his surroundings. He lingered over a framed photograph, one of several pictures of Ginny that Harry kept in his office, though this was a particular favorite. It showed her astride a broom in her old Holyhead Harpies uniform, her long, red hair flying behind her like a banner, the light of laughter and excitement shining in her eyes.

"How's the little woman?" Zabini asked.

The question threw Harry off. "She . . . My wife is fine, thank you."

"Little Ginny," Zabini said dreamily. "Always was a looker. I could have quite fancied her myself once upon a time. Pity she came from the worst family of blood traitors in wizarding history."

An uneasy recollection stirred Harry's memory of Pansy Parkinson talking to a group of Slytherins on the Hogwarts Express, _"A lot of boys like her. Even you think she's good looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please." _

"Do tell her I asked after her, won't you, Potter?" said Zabini, an elegant sneer curling his lips. "We shared some interesting moments in my seventh year at Hogwarts. But you weren't there that year, were you? You were . . . off somewhere, I believe."

Harry gave him a hard, unfriendly look. "What do you want, Zabini?"

Zabini shrugged. "As I said at the outset, I found it inconvenient to have Aurors sniffing around while I was attempting to make discreet inquiries about my cousin. I thought if I came here in person and answered your questions, you might call off your dogs."

"No, I don't think so," said Harry, fixing his guest with a look his children referred to as the 'Death Eater Stare.' "Why don't you try again, Zabini, and this time try the truth. It works every bit as well as a lie, you know. Where I'm concerned, better even."

Zabini's polished indifference crumbled at the look Harry gave him. For several long minutes he seemed inordinately interested in the cuffs on his robes, then he said, "I'm looking for my cousin. So, apparently, are you."

Harry sat back. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. "Is this simple family feeling or is there something else behind your show of concern?"

Zabini looked angry. "My mother is ill."

Harry waited and, when Zabini said nothing, asked, "And?"

"The healers at St. Mungo's have tried everything," Zabini said in a flat voice. "There's nothing they can do. But my cousin has developed a potion that's helped her in the past. I have to find him before . . . before it's too late."

Harry felt a pang of sympathy. Its source was not Mrs. Zabini, a woman long suspected of having poisoned seven husbands, but he couldn't help regarding Zabini himself in a different light. For a man of such arrogance to present himself before an old enemy this way had taken courage, and regardless of the form it took, Harry admired courage. To be sure, the role of supplicant did not sit easily. Zabini's contempt for the great Harry Potter was sneeringly obvious, but desperation had forced the truth out of him. That kind of desperation, Harry knew, could be highly useful.

"You couldn't duplicate the potion?" said Harry. "I would have thought it would be easy for an expert potioneer like you. After all, if you're good enough to teach at Hogwarts . . ."

"It's a complex mixture," Zabini said. "And Claude has always been cagey about his formulas. Not that I haven't looked for them since his disappearance. I've been to the shop, his house, I even looked through his vault at Gringotts." At Harry's raised eyebrows, Zabini explained, "It's an old family vault. It's been in our family for centuries and Mother has access. But I looked through everything and couldn't find a thing."

"Was anything else missing?"

"Not that I could tell," said Zabini. "Only the formulas."

Harry thought for a minute. "When was the last time you saw your cousin?"

"Less than a week ago. It couldn't have been longer, because Mother only fell ill again last weekend. I went to see Claude to ask him to make up another batch of the potion, but he was. . . he seemed agitated. I suspect he may have been drinking because he wasn't making a great deal sense. As a matter of fact, he seemed, I don't know, frightened of something. Or someone, I suppose."

Harry remembered George saying that Attor had seemed frightened. He also remembered George saying that he'd seen Attor coming out of Knockturn Alley less than a week ago, which tied in with Zabini's account. Yet according to Scrimgeour, Attor had disappeared more than a week ago. Harry didn't know what to make of it, but by now he was reasonably convinced that Attor had not gone on holiday and was unlikely to besunning himself in Majorca.

"What do you know about Cormac McLaggen?" Harry asked suddenly. He was taking a shot in the dark. He had no idea if Zabini knew anything about McLaggen, but he felt a sense of grim satisfaction when a fleeting disquiet crossed Zabini's smooth features.

"McLaggen? Wasn't he that oaf who swaggered around Hogwarts, bragging about all the important people he knew?"

"He was in the Slug Club," Harry pointed out.

"I suppose he was. What of it? He was in Gryffindor. I was a Slytherin. We didn't mix, in case you'd forgotten."

Harry watched Zabini closely. The dark skin prevented him from blushing, but there was something about the eyes that let Harry know he'd found the connection he'd been looking for.

"What about after Hogwarts?" Harry said.

Zabini's nostrils flared. He seemed to be undergoing some mighty internal struggle. "If you want my help, Zabini, you're going to have to cooperate," said Harry. "Of course it's not _my_ mother who's dying. . ."

"All _right_!" Zabini snapped. "I ran into McLaggen a few years ago. He was looking for a job so I introduced him to Claude. But that was the extent of it. I had nothing to do with whatever it was he ended up in Azkaban for."

"What about your cousin?"

"I've told you, Potter, I don't _know_! Claude's business dealings were his own affair. He didn't share that information with me and I didn't ask. I've told you all I know. Now, are you going to find him or not?"

Harry suspected there was more to it than Zabini was saying, but the set of his shoulders indicated that he'd said all he was going to say, at least for the present.

"I'll do what I can," Harry said. "I need to find him for other reasons, but it's certainly in your best interests to share anything you learn . . . or remember . . . in the meantime."

Zabini remained expressionless. "You did the right thing in coming to me, Blaise," Harry said.

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it, Potter?"

Harry stood and offered his hand across the desk. Zabini stared at it for a minute before accepting it, then let go very quickly, almost as though he feared contamination. He turned to walk away, but paused at the door to hiss fiercely, "_Find_ him, Potter!" And then he was gone.

Harry stared at the closed door for a few minutes before reaching for a quill and made a few notes which he then tucked into a fresh file folder. He sat for awhile staring at the enchanted window, which showed a scene of ocean waves lapping against a rocky shore. The cliffs in the distance reminded him of the terrain near Shell Cottage, and the sense of calm conviction he experienced the first time he'd been there was similar to the clarity that came to him now. It was as though all the pieces were coming together and everything was finally beginning to make sense. But doubts about the turn his thoughts were taking were equally compelling, for then as now the stakes were high and a single mistake could be devastating. It had been a long time since Harry had questioned himself this way, or felt such qualms about the shifting tides of fate that had driven his life. But it was the fate of others that drove Harry now and the price of his judgment was nothing less than their survival.

Rarely had Harry taken anything at face value and he did not do so now. There were holes in Zabini's story big enough to fly a hippogriff through, and Harry was all but certain that McLaggen knew more than he'd let on. And that whole business with Ginny. . . What was _that_ all about? But Harry forced aside the thoughts Zabini's suggestive remarks had brought about. It was ridiculous, for a start, and besides, there were far more pressing issues at hand. However many questions remained, the essence of Zabini's story rang true. But this, unfortunately, created a whole new set of problems. Instead of a three-way conspiracy, there were now at least four pieces to this puzzle, and the fourth, Harry knew, was the most critical. It was like the queen in a game of chess: capture it and the game was nearly won, but that one piece had more potential for destruction than any of the others.

Harry pored over everything he'd learned that day, including something Hermione had said, though she probably didn't know it was significant. It made Harry feel a little smug to realize that he'd picked up on something Hermione had not, even though it was just a throw-away comment which he hadn't even realized the significance of himself at the time. But now it stood out in his mind like a goblin in a room full of elves, and he pondered it, along with all the other mismatched clues. The will-o-the-wisp danced closer, and Harry reached out, tantalized and triumphant as a memory, long buried in his subconscious, forced its way forward. Perhaps it had been Zabini's presence that made him remember, but Harry thought of the first time he'd ever laid eyes on Zabini and McLaggen. It had been in Slughorn's compartment on the Hogwarts Express, and the old Potions Master had introduced them with probing inquiries into each of their backgrounds. McLaggen, Harry recalled, had talked about a hunting trip. . .

The two things came together, the memory and Hermione's comment, and suddenly there it was, shining before him like a pure, white flame in the darkness. But there was nothing pure about this flame and darkness swirled around him as realization dawned. If what Harry suspected was true, it was the worst kind of betrayal and more treacherous than even his worst fears had imagined.

There was no time for anger or recriminations. Those could come later, but the time for action was now and Harry's brain switched automatically to crisis mode. He opened the file before him and wiped it clean. From this point forward, no one else would be able to read his case notes or know what he was really thinking, and that was the way it would have to stay. Ron might be better at chess, but Harry was master of this board and these chess pieces were known to him. The thing would have to be carefully managed, of course, very carefully indeed. One hand could not know what the other was doing, for a misstep could be catastrophic and any breach of confidence a disaster. In carrying out this plan, Harry knew that he could depend upon few others, and even these few would not know everything. He alone would know all there was to know and whatever consequences might result would be his sole responsibility.

Harry pulled another piece of parchment from his desk and began to make a list of names. The first name was Quinella Jones who headed up the Auror training program. There would be some scheduling changes over the next few weeks to which she would have to adjust. The second was Rob Wilkinson, the young Auror who had performed so admirably during their jaunt to Diagon Alley, and was also new enough not to have formed any conflicting loyalties. There was one more name Harry needed to add, but he hesitated before setting this one down. This was the name that hurt the most, the one whose safety would be in greatest jeopardy in carrying out his mission. It felt like another kind of betrayal, and Harry's quill hovered over the parchment as fresh doubts assailed him. On the other hand, no one was ever forced into becoming an Auror. One chose it as a kind of vocation, and when he came right down to it, there really was no other choice.

Harry wrote the final name, but placed it at the top of the page. He would speak to this person first and offer an opportunity to back out before the plan was set in motion, though the answer was already pretty much a foregone conclusion. Harry took out another piece of parchment upon which he scribbled a brief message. He folded it carefully, sealed it with his wand, then went to the outer office and handed it to Calpurnia.

"I want you to arrange to have this message delivered," Harry told his secretary. "It needs to be handled very discreetly, Calpurnia. No one but the recipient should know it comes from me."

"Very well, sir," said Calpurnia. "Am I permitted to know to whom you wish the message delivered?"

"He's one of our trainees," Harry said. "His name is Ted Lupin."

_**A/N:**__ Sorry to leave you with another cliff-hanger . . . well, actually, I'm not – I'm just EVIL that way (sound of maniacal laugher echoing in the distance)! The next chapter should is a bit lighter in tone. Thanks for sticking with the story and, as always, please take a minute to leave a review._


	9. Chapter 9

**THE LETTER**

_**A/N:**__ Attention all fluff lovers! I caved in to the impulse to include a little more romance in this chapter, but hopefully it also contains enough substance to keep mystery lovers enthralled. Happy reading!_

**Chapter Nine**

Harry was propped up in bed, poring over the case file that Hermione had returned to him that afternoon, reading through all the notes she'd made in the margins. Unfortunately, he was finding it difficult to concentrate because Ginny, who was propped up next to him, kept erupting in fits of giggles. And this seemed odd to Harry because the title of the book she was reading, _Sweet Savage Spirit_, didn't really strike him a comedy.

"_What_ are you laughing at?" he demanded as Ginny gave herself up to peal upon peal of raucous laughter.

"It's this. . . hee, hee. . . ghost!" Ginny giggled. "This Muggle author has him trying. . . ha, ha. . . .and the poor heroine hasn't got a clue! As if a real ghost even _could_ . . . ha, ha, ha!" Gasping for breath, she managed to bring herself under control. "Don't Muggles know _anything_?"

Harry chuckled. "You mean about ghosts?"

"Well, that too."

Harry smiled and shook his head. "Maybe you should switch to murder mysteries."

"Why not? I can always use a laugh," said Ginny, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Though in light of recent events, maybe not. A little too close to home and all that." She peered at Harry hopefully. "Anything new on that front?"

Harry closed the folder. Hermione's cramped writing was giving him a headache. "I have some promising leads."

"And?"

"And. . . nothing," said Harry, taking off his glasses and setting them on the bedside table. "At least not yet."

Ginny regarded him. "You know, Harry sometimes I don't think you trust me very much."

"What kind of a thing is that to say?" said Harry. "Of course I trust you. You're my wife."

"I know," Ginny said dryly. "I was at the wedding. But you never tell me anything."

"That's not true. I tell you lots of things. I've told you more than I ever even told Ron and Hermione."

"That's not saying much," said Ginny. "Hermione told me once she never really knew what went on inside your head."

Harry frowned. "When did she say that?"

"Ages ago, when we were all still at school. You never told them when you started having feelings for me. You never even said anything to Ron and I'm his sister."

"Well, that was the point, wasn't it?" said Harry. "I thought he'd kill me. He probably would have if he'd known what I was thinking half the time."

Ginny rolled over to face him, smiling. "What were you thinking?"

"Very impure thoughts, I assure you," said Harry, smiling back. "I'm sure he probably guessed. As a matter of fact, all your brothers did. Don't you remember the time Bill, Charlie, George, and Percy took me out for a drink and then took it in turns to describe in loving detail just what they would do to me if I ever hurt you?"

"Funny," said Ginny musingly. "I don't remember that."

"I can't bloody well forget it." Harry shuddered. "Blimey, I still have nightmares about it!"

Ginny grinned at him. "What about Ron? Why didn't he weigh in?"

"I think his loyalties were divided. Mind you, I have no doubt he would have queued up with the others had I stepped out of line. Lucky thing you finally made an honest man out of me, isn't it?"

Ginny's mouth twisted as Harry's arm snaked its way around her waist and pulled her closer. "I think you're trying to change the subject."

"Actually, I think you were," said Harry, leaving a trail of feather light kisses along her bare shoulder.

"No, I wasn't," said Ginny. "We were talking about the fact that you keep so many secrets. You've always been like that. Even now, after fourteen years of marriage. . ."

"What are you talking about? I'm not keeping secrets from you."

"What about the fact that you've been locking yourself in the study with Teddy Lupin every night?"

Harry couldn't think how to answer, so he tried a lame joke. "It's obvious, isn't it? Teddy and I are having an affair."

"Very funny," said Ginny, swatting him on the shoulder. "We've hardly seen Teddy since he started Auror training, yet he's turned up for dinner almost every night this week. Why does he suddenly have so much free time? Come on, Harry, out with it."

Harry sighed and rolled over on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Teddy has started a new phase of his training. I've been advising him, that's all."

Ginny said nothing. The silence began to feel a little oppressive, so Harry said, "It's easier to talk to him here at home than at the Ministry. I don't like to give the impression of playing favorites. Not that I _am_, but . . . well, it just looks bad if he's running in and out of my office a dozen times a day."

"Why would he need to run to your office a dozen times a day if all you're doing is advising him?"

Harry's mind groped for answers. "Well, it's . . . it's an especially tricky part of his training and. . ."

"What part of his training is it?" asked Ginny.

He wished she hadn't asked. "Shadowing."

"Shadowing?" said Ginny. "Isn't that the program Ron proposed all those years ago? The one where trainees follow a qualified Auror around and work on actual cases?"

"Well, yes," said Harry, surprised she remembered. "That's the section Ted's working on now and . . ."

"Wait a minute," said Ginny. "Ted's only a first-year trainee. Doesn't that usually come near the end of the third year?"

Memories like elephants, Harry thought. Don't women ever forget _anything_? "It's an experiment," he explained. "I've been talking to Quinella and I. . . well, _we_ decided to try it earlier, make everything that comes later a bit more . . . relevant."

Ginny was eyeing him suspiciously. Or was that just Harry's imagination? "How's it working out?"

"Fine," said Harry, trying not to think about the near riot the announcement had caused. Rowan Scrimgeour had been particularly incensed.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" he said when Harry broke the news in a private meeting in his office. "As if we all haven't got enough on our plates without having to play wet nurse to a class of first-year trainees. I'd sooner have a plague of locusts!"

"We're short on manpower," Harry explained calmly. "There's a need for someone to see to all the details qualified Aurors haven't time for, and this seemed like the best solution. Use them for research or reporting, Rowan, whatever you think best. I trust your judgment. Besides, weren't you the one complaining that you didn't have time to follow up on leads with this McLaggen case?"

Scrimgeour shifted a bit in his chair. "Why can't we get people in from other departments? Why does it have to be this lot of wet-behind-the-ears kids?"

"I talked to the Minister," said Harry. "Kingsley can't . . . he can't spare anyone from other departments just now. Come on, Rowan, it's a win-win situation. They get valuable experience and you get the extra help you need. Why not make the best of it?"

Scrimgeour couldn't seem to think of anything to say to this. "By the way," Harry added. "I've assigned the best of the lot to you. His name is Ted Lupin."

Scrimgeour's reaction was so faint that Harry wouldn't have caught the look of mild alarm on the leonine features if he hadn't been looking for it. "Isn't. . . isn't he your godson?"

"Yes," Harry admitted. "But he also has the best test scores of any trainee in the program, not to mention a reputation as a work horse. And let's face it, he comes from excellent stock. His mother was an Auror, one of the best. She was a protégée of old Mad-Eye Moody's."

"My dad worked with Moody," said Scrimgeour reflectively.

"Yes, I know," Harry replied. "Don't worry that I'll be using Ted to look over your shoulder, Rowan. It really is a compliment that I've assigned him to you. I want him to learn from the best."

Scrimgeour blinked. "Well. . . if you put it that way. . . Thank you, Harry. I appreciate your confidence. I'll do my best not to let you down."

"Can't ask for more than that, can I?" Harry said genially. "Just concentrate on McLaggen, Rowan. That's the important thing."

"What about Attor?" asked Scrimgeour.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Sorry, I meant to, I've just had so much on my mind. The thing is, Rowan, I've decided you were right. I was grasping at straws, I suppose, but . . . well, this case has been an emotional rollercoaster for me."

"I know, Harry," Scrimgeour replied in a voice full of compassion. "It's like I said, you should think about going away for awhile. Take Ginny and the kids and go on holiday until it all blows over."

Harry went around the desk to place a hand on Scrimgeour's shoulder. "I'll think about it, I really will. Just focus on the job at hand,all right? Nothing else is as important as finding McLaggen."

Scrimgeour left the meeting in an excellent mood, unburdened by the knowledge that Rob Wilkinson, working on secret orders, was continuing the search for Claude Attor. Harry had thus far manipulated his chess pieces with relative ease. He only hoped his chief Auror never realized what a pawn he was in this most dangerous game.

"It's going well, actually," Harry said now to Ginny. "In fact, it's going very well indeed."

"It just seems an odd time to make such a drastic change," Ginny said, unknowingly echoing Scrimgeour's initial concern. "Especially in light of our. . . I mean, the investigation."

Harry decided to voice the thought in his head. Why not? It had been a long time since he'd given her any good news. "Actually, that's going pretty well too."

"Really?" Ginny sat up. "Is there. . .do you think. . . Is there a chance. . ."

"Don't get your hopes up," Harry cautioned. "We haven't cracked the case yet, but. . . well, let's just say we're getting closer."

"What's happening? What's going on? Will it be resolved in time for James . . . "

Harry was already regretting his impulse. "It's like I said, you shouldn't get your hopes up. There's no way to know for sure, but. . . well, things are looking up."

Ginny propped herself on one elbow to look at him. "Are they looking up enough to allow us to go to the Burrow when Charlie and Olga arrive for their annual visit? We haven't seen the new baby yet, and Mum and Dad will be terribly disappointed if we don't go."

Harry looked at her. Charlie had been the last of the Weasley brothers to marry, but having delayed for so long, he seemed determined to make up for lost time. He'd already done his older brother one better by producing not just one, but two sets of twins. Arthur and Adam were followed by Molly and Magda, and less than a year ago Charlie's Romanian wife had given birth to little Stefan. Between Bill's three, Charlie's five, Percy's four, George's three, Ron's two, and Ginny's three, the Weasley grandchildren now numbered twenty and family gatherings were more or less restricted to warmer weather so that everyone could congregate outdoors. Every August, Molly and Arthur's six remaining children, along with their spouses and assorted offspring, assembled at the Burrow for an occasion that had come to be a command performance. Andromeda and Teddy were always included, as were other close friends such as Neville Longbottom and his wife Hannah; Luna Lovegood whenever she wasn't on the other side of the globe chasing some bizarre, exotic creature; and of course Hagrid without whom no Weasley family event would be complete. The Potters had never missed one of these gatherings and Harry had been worrying about whether or not it would be safe for them to go this year. Now, however, he was feeling confident enough to make a tentative promise.

"We'll have to take precautions," he said to Ginny. "But I've been thinking. Do you remember the protective charms that were put in place for Bill and Fleur's wedding?"

"The Death Eaters broke through all those," Ginny reminded him.

"Yes, but we're not dealing with Death Eaters now," said Harry. "And the Ministry isn't being controlled by Dark Wizards. As long everyone stays within the accepted boundaries, I think it'll be all right."

"Oh, Harry!" said Ginny, looking happier than Harry had seen her in weeks. Almost immediately, however, she looked worried again. "But what's happened to make you change your mind? A few days ago you wouldn't even let us leave the house and now all of sudden . . . Harry, what's going on?"

"I'm sorry, love," Harry said. "I can't tell you."

"You mean you _won't_ tell me?"

"No, I mean I can't."

"Why can't you?"

"Because it's better that way."

"Why is it better?"

"It just is," Harry said, wishing she would drop it. He should have known better.

"So you really _don't_ trust me?"

"Ginny, it has nothing to do with how much I trust you. It's complicated, that's all."

"Too complicated for me to understand, you mean?" Ginny said huffily.

Harry felt his eyes cross. He had never known a woman who could get mad faster or stay mad longer, especially when she was thwarted. "I do trust you," he said wearily. "I trust you and I love you. It's just better if you don't know everything at this point. Better for you, I mean."

For a moment there was silence. Harry dared to hope that she had accepted his argument. Then he saw her eyes narrow as she gathered herself for another round. Apparently she was on a roll and nothing short of an earthquake would stop her.

"Ginny, I'm sorry, but I really can't tell you," Harry said in a desperate effort to head her off. "You don't exactly tell me everything either, you know."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry looked around as though someone else had said them. He certainly hadn't meant to bring _that_ up tonight.

"What haven't I told you?" Ginny demanded.

"Nothing. I shouldn't have said anything. Forget it."

"No, I won't forget it. _I'm_ not the one who keeps secrets around here. Tell me what it is you think I haven't told you."

Harry mumbled something. Ginny leaned closer to try to hear him. "Sorry?" she said. "I didn't quite catch that."

Harry sighed and said, "I talked to Blaise Zabini a few days ago."

"So?" said Ginny.

Harry studied her, almost as though she was a suspect, but she seemed genuinely bemused by his line of inquiry. Of course it was stupid. The whole thing was completely ridiculous. Ginny lay beside him, lushly pliant in a diaphanous nightgown, her fragrant hair spread across the pillow, those eyes watching him, and all he could think of was Zabini saying, "We shared some interesting moments in my seventh year." Why would he have said that if nothing happened, Harry wondered for the millionth time. And why, after all these years, was it so important to know whether or not anything had?

Ginny had never said anything about Zabini, but there was a lot about that year they had never discussed. They'd gone over the highlights, but some things are better left unsaid, not so much out of a desire to hide anything as the aching misery such memories still evoked. It had been the single worst year of Harry's life, which was quite a statement, considering, and Ginny had certainly experienced her share of hardships. He knew she had started up the D.A. again with Neville and Luna, and worried incessantly about him, Ron, and Hermione whose whereabouts she never knew and whose welfare she had agonized over.

Ginny said nothing in the immediate aftermath of those dramatic events, but Harry knew she was angry at being left behind and suspected this was part of her motivation in running off with the Holyhead Harpies. There had always seemed more than a little "Up yours, Potter!" about that decision, as it forced _him_ to be the one waiting and worrying for a change. However, knowing that he probably deserved it, Harry waited, as she had waited for him, until her wanderlust was satisfied. After all, he, Harry, had certainly had his share of adventures: how could he blame Ginny for wanting a bit of the same?

But in light of Zabini's comments, Harry wondered just how angry Ginny really was. He trusted her, of course he did, but he _had _broken up with her. She'd been a free agent that entire year and that had been his decision, not hers. Even so, _Zabini_? She couldn't have. Could she? Ginny had rarely given Harry cause for jealousy. She'd always been so obviously, completely, rapturously in love with him, but now Harry wondered if he'd taken too much for granted. Could she, in a moment of loneliness and fear, have turned to the handsome Slytherin who was just the type a lot of women seemed to go for: tall, cool, and elegant, with that aura of mystery and the tiniest hint of vulnerability. . .

"Zabini mentioned something," Harry began in a half-tentative, half-shamed tone, "about the two of you sharing some 'interesting moments' that year I was away."

Ginny looked bewildered. "I don't. . ." she said, then her confusion vanished. "Oh. That."

Harry felt something twist inside of him. "What do you mean, 'Oh, that?'"

"It was nothing really. He just did . . . sort of a favor for me once."

"What sort of favor?" Harry demanded, scowling.

Ginny fluffed the pillows behind her. "It was during that year when the Carrows were in charge at Hogwarts. Do you remember Neville telling you that they used to make students use the Cruciatus Curse against each other in Defense Against the Dark Arts? The Slytherins. . .well, some of them really enjoyed it."

"Zabini used the Cruciatus Curse against you?" said Harry, leaping off the bed in horror.

"No! Get a grip, for Merlin's sake. And put that down before you set the bed on fire," she added as sparks flew from the wand he had reflexively grabbed from the bedside table.

Harry set the wand down. "I mouthed off to Amycus Carrow one day," Ginny explained. "He'd made some hideous remark about you and I wasn't in a mood to take it. Of course he decided I needed to be punished so he asked for a volunteer and Zabini stepped forward. . ."

"I thought you said. . ."

"Will you just _listen_?" Ginny hissed. "Anyway, he raised his wand like he was ready to curse me, then he sort of leered and said he knew of a _much_ better way to teach me a lesson. Of course it was pretty obvious what he meant. Crabbe and Goyle and all those other thugs started wolf whistling and shouting obscene suggestions, and that troll, Amycus, told Zabini to go right ahead. He even offered a few suggestions of his own."

Harry felt sick. "What . . . What did he do?"

"Well, he grabbed me and. . . . dragged me out of the classroom."

"What?" shouted Harry, jumping out of bed again.

"Do I have to use a Silencing Charm to get you to shut up? Now _sit_!"

Harry sat. "As I was saying," Ginny continued. "He dragged me out of the room and I don't mind telling you I was in a bit of a panic. I didn't have my wand and he was so much bigger, I didn't know how I could fight him off. I was kicking and screaming and probably crying by then., and as soon as the door closed behind us, I nearly fainted, I was so scared. . ."

"God," Harry whispered, almost afraid to hear more.

"Then he grabbed the front of my robes said, 'Scream!'"

"What?" said Harry, confused.

"That's what I said," Ginny replied. "He ripped my robes a little down the front and then I _did_ scream. I screamed at the top of my lungs, and those animals outside the door started laughing. They'd been listening. Waiting."

Harry felt numb. He couldn't have uttered an intelligible word if his life had depended on it.

"Zabini looked me straight in the eye and said, quietly enough to prevent those animals from hearing, 'Stay here until they've all gone.' I just stared at him. I couldn't believe. . . I couldn't understand why . . . Then he swaggered out the door to join the others. They were all patting him on the back, and a couple of them looked into the classroom to see what kind of shape I was in. I was holding the torn edges of my robes together, still looking dazed, I'm sure, but he shooed them all away. As soon as they had gone I made my way up to Gryffindor Tower. Neville tried to talk to me. He wanted to know if I was all right, but I went straight to bed and stayed there the rest of the day. By the next morning I was fine. I just wanted to forget it. But I never forgot, and I. . . I wish I had thanked him. Maybe I still can."

Harry stared at Ginny. All this was inside her, all this time, and he'd never known. He didn't know what to think, how to feel. He didn't know whether to shake Zabini's hand or throttle him. Maybe he could do both. Maybe he _would_ do both.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Harry said.

Ginny was sitting up now, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. "I wanted to forget it. I wanted to forget that entire year. Missing you so much, never knowing if you were dead or alive, or if I'd ever see you again. Losing Fred, Tonks, Remus, and all the others. You don't talk much about that year either. At least you haven't, not since. . . not since it happened."

Harry knew what she was saying. He didn't like thinking about that year either, let alone talking about it. He'd told her about the important things, the Horcruxes and the prophecy, the nights he'd stared at the Marauder's Map watching the dot labeled with her name, and the times when his longing for her had been a physical ache. He'd told her about seeing his parents, Sirius and Remus in the forest, about his conversation with Dumbledore in the place that looked like King's Cross, and his final thought before Voldemort pointed the Elder Wand at his heart. But he'd only skimmed the surface of the night he and Hermione went to Godric's Hollow. He'd barely mentioned the ghastly episode at Malfoy Manor and Dobby's death in that lonely place by the sea. And there were some things he'd never told her, things he'd tried to push from his mind forever, just as she had relegated this memory to the past. But that Ginny, darling Ginny, had experienced something like this and never shared it with him seemed somehow monstrous. Why had he never asked? Why had he never questioned her about that awful year? Why had he never realized that her torments had been every bit as difficult, if not more so in some ways, than his own?

It came to Harry that he had been self-absorbed, that he'd been . . . what was the word Ginny used? Arrogant. Yes, arrogant in assuming that because she always seemed to know what he was thinking and feeling without the need for words, the same was true in reverse. But the truth was that he'd never really thought much about what Ginny thought or felt. He'd simply taken it on faith that everything was fine because she complained so seldom. But maybe there were things she wanted to say. Maybe there were things she _needed_ to say, and maybe he just wasn't listening. Harry didn't know if it had always been this way or if this was a recent development, but it did seem that the pressures of children and careers had pushed too much aside. Too much time had been allowed to pass without touching on what mattered most. The letter from Hogwarts had brought home to him how quickly time was passing, while the looming threat coming so hard on the heels of that revelation had shown him how precious time was. He didn't want to waste any more time, not while he held the world in his arms, knowing that all too quickly and much too easily, it could be taken away.

Harry pulled Ginny close, wanting to tell her so much, yet unable to say what was in his heart. "I wish I had been there for you. I wish we'd never been apart. I wish. . . . I wish. . . "

Ginny looked up. "What do you wish?"

"I wish I'd married you when you were ten years old."

They fell back onto the pillows together, laughing. "I was _so _besotted with you," Ginny said, tracing his jaw with her finger. "And you never even knew I was alive."

"I knew," said Harry, kissing her eyes, her ears, her delicious mouth. "I think I always knew."

"So that whole business with Cho Chang was just a temporary distraction?"

Harry groaned and covered his face with a pillow. "_Why_ would you bring that up now? Anyway, what about that time I caught you snogging Dean Thomas?"

"Poor Harry," said Ginny, kissing the tip of his nose. "Were you jealous?"

"Insanely! I wanted to curse him into another dimension."

"All you had to do was crook your little finger," she said. "I would have come running."

"Would you? Even then?"

"Even then," Ginny said. "There's never been anyone else for me but you."

"And there's never been anyone else. . ." Harry broke off as Ginny arched an eyebrow. "Er, that is, not _really_. . ."

"Right," Ginny said wryly. "Why don't you kiss me before you get into real trouble?"

Harry complied with the greatest pleasure. It was several blissful minutes later that he became aware of a faint tapping in the distance. "Harry," said Ginny, struggling to peer over his shoulder. "There's an owl at the window."

"Let him get his own girl," Harry growled.

Ginny giggled. "Harry, come on. . ."

Harry twisted around to glare at the tawny owl who was tapping persistently at one of the thick panes. "Go away! I'm kissing my wife!"

Ginny placed the palms of both hands against his chest and pushed. He fell back with a sigh and watched her walk to the window and release the latch. The owl hopped inside, holding out its leg while Ginny untied the message, then watched as it soared back into the night.

"For you," Ginny said. "Looks like a Ministry seal."

Harry reached for his glasses and put them on. He propped himself up before breaking the seal and unrolling the parchment. The two sentences jumped straight out at him and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the words in front of him, which read:

_Muggle police found a body at the bottom of a well near Ottery St. Catchpole early this evening. Magical Law Enforcement has identified unknown man as a wizard by the name of Claude Attor_.


	10. Chapter 10

**THE LETTER**

_**A/N:**__ As part of my ongoing effort to keep this story true to JKR's vision, I've incorporated some of the information from the interview at Carnegie Hall (No, not the stuff about Dumbledore. I'm not about to open THAT can of worms!). This chapter contains another dose of fluff and some additional clues, though a few plot details have come as a surprise, even to me (I'm not sure whose spirit I'm channeling with this story, but frankly, it's starting to creep me out!). By the time you finish reading this, some of you may believe you've figured everything out, but don't be too sure . . . there's more to come! Happy reading and please remember to leave a review at the end._

**Chapter Ten**

Ginny gave a little squeak of alarm when she opened the front door to reveal an old man with a hooked nose and long, grizzled hair.

"Ginny, it's me," said a familiar voice.

"Teddy!" Ginny sighed with relief and stepped aside so he could enter. "Thank goodness! I thought for a minute the protective spells had been breached."

"Sorry," said Ted, as the door closed behind him and he slowly morphed back into himself. His hair went from gray to deep purple, and when he removed the long, dark traveling cloak, Ginny noted the fact that he was wearing Muggle clothing. "Is he in?"

"In the study," said Ginny. "Go on back. He's expecting you."

Harry looked up when Ted came in. He was unshaven and his eyes were shadowed in the dim light of the heavily shaded room. Ted could see the lamplight reflected in his glasses. He looked as if he hadn't slept for days.

"Lock the door, will you, Ted?" said Harry.

Ted pointed his wand at the door and said _"Colloportus,"_ then added automatically, _"Muffliato."_

"Well?" Harry said.

"Nobody seems to suspect anything," Ted replied. "Or if they do, they're doing a great job of dissembling. As long as it stays out of the Muggle newspapers. . ."

"Obliviators have modified the memories of all the Muggles that had any part in recovering the body," said Harry, taking off his glasses to rub his bloodshot eyes. "But this certainly puts a new wrinkle on things. If we don't get to McLaggen soon, we might be out of luck."

"Wilkinson has joined Cadwallader and Detweiller in standing watch," said Ted. "None of them has noticed anyone coming or going, though I suppose there's always the Floo Network. . ."

Harry shook his head. "That's being monitored. We'd know if anyone was getting in or out that way. Unfortunately, it looks as though Attor was killed shortly before we started keeping an eye on things, so it's not necessarily significant that there's been no sign of recent movement."

"You don't think it was McLaggen then?" Ted asked. "He couldn't have been acting alone?"

"No," said Harry. "If I'm certain of anything, it's that. As for the other, it's the only explanation that makes sense. McLaggen was questioned using Veritaserum, or at least what we _thought _was Veritaserum. There are a number of other factors as well and they all lead to pretty much one conclusion."

"Attor was their supplier," said Ted. "Why kill the Golden Goose?"

"As to that, I can only guess," Harry said. "But I think what they were after was the formulas. Somehow they convinced Attor to turn them over and then killed him once they had what they needed. He must have become a liability. The difficulty is that these potions are very dangerous and highly volatile. A single wrong move could be fatal in the mixing process, so only someone with excellent potion making skills could work with them. I'm going to speak to someone later today who might be able to shed a little light on that aspect of things."

"What about the kids?" said Ted. "You really believe the threat was just a diversionary tactic?"

"I can't be certain," said Harry. "But I have a feeling the whole idea was to distract me. I was getting a little too close to the truth, I expect, but once I'd had a chance to piece together a few clues, it all seemed just a little too neat: the note left in the cell, McLaggen boasting to fellow inmates . . . McLaggen is thick, but even he's not that stupid. They must have believed I'd focus on the threat and fly into a panic if I thought my family was in danger. Well, it nearly worked. I _did_ panic at first, but as soon as I realized who was behind it all, everything clicked into place. The threat was a diversion. McLaggen's escape was a diversion. They hoped I'd waste all my energy chasing the man I believed was after my children and allow them time to cover their tracks. Fortunately for me – and unfortunately for them – I worked it out in the end."

"What's stopping you from arresting the other party now?" asked Ted. "Before the plan can be carried out?"

"We don't have enough evidence," Harry replied. "That's why McLaggen is the key. He can provide the evidence we need for a conviction, and if my hunch is correct, we may not even need to use Veritaserum this time. He must be in a right old panic himself by now, or will be once it penetrates that thick skull what a tool he's been."

"Are you sure he's still alive? If Attor was a liability, then McLaggen. . ."

"McLaggen is a necessary evil," Harry insisted. "At least until the operation has been moved out of the country. Once that happens, though, McLaggen is as good as dead. That's why it's so important to find him now, before it's too late."

Ted's brow furrowed. "Why, though? I wouldn't have thought someone like that would resort to murder."

A faint smile creased Harry's tired face. "When you've been an Auror as long as I have, Ted, you'll find that men are capable of almost anything. In my experience, there are two things that bring out the worst in people: greed and power, and when those two are combined, it's a worse mixture than any potion ever devised by wizards."

"So that's what this all about?" said Ted. "A little gold?"

"More than a little, I'm afraid. They've raked in a fortune and that kind of wealth tends to take on a life of its own." Harry glanced at his watch. "Can you stay for breakfast, Ted? There's plenty of time before you're due at your. . . er. . . 'other' job."

"That'd be great!" said Ted, bounding up as if he'd enjoyed an evening of restful slumber even though, like Harry, he'd been up most of the night.

Harry could not help envying Ted's youth, for he personally felt as though he'd been dragged through a hedge backward, and there was a long way to go before he could seek his pillow again. He had spent most of the night talking with Kingsley Shacklebolt and other prominent Ministry officials and followed this up with a pre-dawn visit to Hermione. She and Ron, both in their dressing gowns, had listened to a full accounting while a succession of house-elves brought trays of tea, coffee, and tempting pastries, none of which had been touched by any of the three who found their appetites diminished by the events they were discussing.

"I never would have guessed," said Ron when Harry concluded his account. "It's mind-boggling."

"To say the least," said Hermione, who sat next to Ron on a gold-brocade covered settee. "I'm amazed you were able to work it all out so quickly, Harry."

"Your notes helped a lot, Hermione," Harry admitted. "The clincher was McLaggen's N.E.W.T. scores. Thanks for digging those up for me."

"I couldn't help wondering how he did so well in potions," said Hermione. "I still don't understand. . ." She broke off as comprehension dawned. "Of course! Polyjuice potion!"

"Someone else took the exam for him?" asked Ron. "But there are anti-cheating spells . . ."

"They must have found a way around them," Harry said. "I'm guessing that's how he got out of Azkaban too. He walked straight out because he looked like someone who _could_ walk out of Azkaban without being questioned."

"Diabolical," said Ron, shaking his head. "Hardly unprecedented, though. It worked for Barty Crouch, didn't it?"

"Exactly," said Harry. "The Crouches were old family friends. He must have heard the story and thought it worth a try. As you say, Ron, it had worked once before."

"What's the next step, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"That's actually why I barged in on you at this ridiculous hour, Hermione," Harry said. "There's someone who might be able to lead me to McLaggen, but before I speak to him, I need to know if you can give me a little latitude on cutting a deal."

"What sort of deal?" said Hermione, frowning. "If McLaggen was involved in any way with Attor's murder . . ."

"It's not McLaggen," Harry said. "The person I need to speak to is, I believe, protecting someone who may have committed a crime a long time ago. He's determined to protect this individual, but might be willing to talk if I can offer some kind of incentive. I'm not asking for immunity, Hermione, just a little prosecutorial wiggle room. The crime in question is so old that it would probably be difficult to make out a solid case anyway, but I don't want to promise anything without your concurrence."

Hermione chewed her lower lip. "I'd have to take a look at all the facts of the case, but. . . well, if it's that's important, Harry, I suppose I can give you a little latitude. Very little, mind. Try not to offer the moon, all right?"

"I won't," said Harry. "Thank you, Hermione."

"You're welcome," said Hermione. "Have you told Ginny about all this? I really think you should, Harry. She'll be so relieved about the children . . . that is, if you're sure?

"That's just it, I'm not one hundred percent sure," Harry said. "I think it was a ruse, but I'd hate to get her hopes up only to bring them crashing down again if I turn out to be wrong. I'm definitely not removing any of the protections that have been put in place for the children's safety. Not yet anyway."

"You _will _be at the Burrow next weekend, won't you?" said Ron. "It wouldn't be the same without you and Ginny."

"I'll have to make security arrangements, but I think it'll be all right," Harry said. "I've already talked to Ginny about that. Last night, in fact."

"Don't you think you ought to tell her all of it, Harry?" Hermione suggested. "She's been a bundle of nerves since this dreadful business began. It would be worth it just to give her a little peace of mind. Besides, I really think she deserves to know, don't you?"

Harry hesitated, uncertain. He knew that Ginny would rather die than do anything to compromise the case and wouldn't betray his trust under torture, but mothers were not always rational when it came to their children. Even animal mothers were volatile when their babies were threatened, and Harry could not help wondering if Ginny, with her hair-trigger Weasley temper, might not just hex first and ask questions later. Still, Hermione was right. He owed Ginny an explanation, and the fact was that he needed her right now.

"You're right, Hermione, as usual," Harry said. "I'm not sure it's the wise or even the moral thing to do, but I think I'd like to take her with me when I speak to the person I mentioned. If all else fails, she might be able to persuade him to give me the information I need. So I suppose I'll have to tell her. And, as you say, she deserves to know."

"It's the right thing to do, Harry," Hermione told him. "Ginny isn't as fragile as you think. She never was."

"I never thought she was fragile. I just. . . well, you can't blame me for wanting to protect her, can you?"

"Not at all, mate," Ron said, with an ironic glance at Hermione. "It's only natural you'd want to. But if this lady here has taught me anything, it's that most women are more than capable of taking care of themselves, and us too a lot of the time. It's maddening, I know, not to mention hell on a man's ego, but there you have it."

Hermione smiled and rewarded him with a kiss. "You are wise beyond your years, Ronald Weasley!"

Ron kissed her back and said, "Well, that's why you married me, isn't it?"

Ginny and Harry Apparated outside the gates of the Hogwarts grounds, each clutching the other's hand as the looming bulk of the ancient castle rose above them. Having already warned Professor McGonagall they were coming, Harry pointed his wand and the silver stag burst from its end, cantering toward the castle to let is occupants know of their arrival. They looked around while they waited, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the place that had been Harry's first true home. Past the tall pillars on either side of the gates, each topped by a winged boar, the lake shimmered in the foreground. In the distance they could just make out the shape of the Whomping Willow, its branches swaying menacingly in the slight breeze blowing toward them from the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid's hut wasn't visible from where they stood, but the faintest curl of smoke from a distant chimney told them that he was nearby and they would no doubt see him later.

They hadn't waited long when a familiar figure was seen striding toward them. Harry and Ginny's faces both split into wide grins as they recognized Neville Longbottom, who hurried along the path to greet his old friends. As soon as he unlocked the gates, Neville enveloped Ginny in a tight hug and followed this up with an equally enthusiastic greeting for Harry.

Harry looked him up and down. "Hannah's been feeding you well, I see."

Neville, who had always been round-faced, now sported an extra chin, with a possible third in the offing. "She's a great little cook, my Hannah," replied Neville, patting his ample belly unapologetically. "Living over the pub the way we do, there's always something around and it can be hard to resist."

Neville's wife, the former Hannah Abbott, was the new landlady of the Leaky Cauldron. During the school term Neville Apparated home to the pub each evening, which his students thought was incredibly cool.

"How's little Alice?" Ginny asked as they walked toward the castle.

"Ah, she's grand!" Neville replied, beaming. "Walking all over the place and talking a blue streak these days. And we've had great news. Hannah's expecting again."

"Fast work!" said Harry, grinning. "Alice isn't two yet, is she?"

"_You_ should talk," Neville said. "James wasn't even a year old when you found out Albus was on the way."

"Er, um, yes, well," Harry harrumphed. Albus had been what George Weasley referred to as a "Whoops!" baby, meaning that Harry and Ginny hadn't planned to have another child quite so soon. Of course they were delighted with their second son, and it wasn't long before they also had Lily. It was at this point, however, that Ginny, who hadn't properly seen her own feet for several years, declared a moratorium on childbearing.

"That's wonderful, Neville!" said Ginny, giving him another hug. "When?"

"Just after the new year," Neville replied. "Hannah's feeling great. Not a trace of morning sickness, but she never went through that with Alice either."

"Lucky Hannah," said Ginny, who had been sick morning, noon, and night for the first several months of her pregnancies. "You'll give her our best, won't you, Neville? Oh, but we'll be able to do that in person! You _are_ coming to the Burrow next weekend?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Neville replied. "I've been rushing through all my start-of-term work to make sure I have that weekend free." They had by now reached the double oak front doors. "Speaking of which," Neville said as they paused in the cavernous entryway, "I'd better get back to it. Minerva asked me to tell you she'd be honored if you both joined her in the Great Hall for dinner once you conclude your business. I'll be there too, if that's any incentive. I'm working a bit later this evening."

"Of course we will," said Harry. "See you then, Neville."

They watched as he hurried back out to the grounds in the direction of the greenhouses. When Harry turned back to Ginny she was looking around the torch-lit entrance hall with its high ceilings and suits of armor set along the walls.

"Shall we?" said Harry, holding out his hand. Ginny, however, was looking at the marble staircase leading to the upper floors.

"We have time, don't we?" she said. "Couldn't we stop by Gryffindor Tower, just for a minute?"

"Why?" asked Harry.

"I just want to see it," Ginny replied. "See if it's changed at all. Could we?"

She was luminous, filled with a strange excitement, and this filled Harry with a sense of guilt that he didn't quite understand. Ginny had been surprising him ever since he explained that he needed her help with an interview he planned to conduct later that afternoon. She'd seemed almost flattered when he confided the details of the case to her. Like Ron and Hermione, she was appalled by the duplicity he'd uncovered, but her reaction to his request left him feeling shamed. The idea that he needed her, that he was actually asking for her help, seemed to energize Ginny, and Harry couldn't help wondering at his own lack of perception. Hermione was right. Ginny was no fragile flower to be preserved under glass, nor a damsel in distress for him to champion, but a strong, mature woman, his true partner in every sense of the word, yet he'd been cutting her out of a huge portion of his life. Part of it was the need for secrecy his job required, but Harry knew that wasn't all of it. He'd simply grown used to compartmentalizing various aspects of his life. It was simpler that way, easier to manage, and somehow made everything seem more efficient. Now, however, the business of family and career had combined, and it came as an epiphany to Harry that his efficiency might have prevented a closeness he hadn't even realized he'd been missing. The happiness he'd given Ginny by the simple fact of admitting, "I need you," caused Harry to berate himself for not understanding that she wanted and needed to be needed and wanted every bit as much as he did himself.

Harry was so distracted that he almost forgot to leap over the trick step that used to cause such problems for Neville. "Whoops! Careful there," said Ginny, who was, annoyingly, not even out of breath.

"Climbing all these stairs used to be a lot easier," said Harry, who was feeling light-headed by the time they reached the seventh floor.

"You must be getting old," Ginny replied, teasing him. "Of course you haven't had much sleep either. That two hour kip you had after breakfast couldn't have done you any good."

"I'll survive," said Harry, breathing hard. "Though, you know, it just occurred to me, this is probably a wasted trip. We don't have the password. The Fat Lady won't let us in."

"Oh, I think she'll let _you_ in. She always had a bit of a crush on you, you know."

"Don't be stupid," said Harry, blushing in spite of himself. "That's ridiculous."

"Think so, do you? Watch and see!"

The Fat Lady was dozing in her frame, but roused herself when Ginny cleared her throat. "Passwor. . .?" she started to say, but her eyes widened when she recognized Harry. "My dear boy! Is it you? Is it really you?"

Harry felt heat creep up his neck as Ginny stifled a giggle. "Er. . . How are you?"

"Smashing, dear boy. Absolutely smashing! And this is your little bride? Oh, delightful! Simply delightful! Wait till I tell Violet I've seen you. We were talking about you just the other day. 'Do you ever hear from that brilliant young man who defeated the Dark Lord?' she asked, and I said to her . . . "

"Um, if you wouldn't mind," Harry interrupted. "That is, we don't have the password or anything, but. . ."

"Me, refuse entrance to Harry Potter?" said the Fat Lady. "Wouldn't dream of it, dear boy. Enter and welcome!"

"Thanks," said Harry, shooting a dark look at Ginny who was barely able to crawl through the portrait hole, she was laughing so hard.

The common room was exactly the way Harry remembered it: the red and gold hangings, the squashy armchairs, the round tables scattered throughout the room, and the enormous stone fireplace, big enough to roast a boar in. Ginny ran to the window to look out at the grounds and Harry moved up behind her.

"It's the same," she whispered, awed. "It's exactly the same."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know. I just thought. . . Well, _we've_ changed, haven't we? So much about our lives has changed, but nothing here has. It's almost as if the war never happened. As if all the years in between never happened. It's like . . . well, it's like going back in time, isn't it?"

Harry knew what she meant. Despite his fatigue, due to lack of sleep and climbing seven flights of stairs, he felt sixteen again, and he and Ginny had just come back from one of their frequent 'walks' through the grounds. It seemed that time managed to stand still in this enchanted place. It even smelled the same, the scent of wood-smoke mingling with the smells of ink and new parchment. Harry thought he could even detect a faint whiff of dung bombs, as though Fred and George had just pulled off another one of their many spectacular pranks. Harry felt a burning behind his eyes. He closed them tightly and as he did, he could hear the sound of Fred's laughter, see Tonks tripping over something as she patrolled the corridors, imagine Remus downstairs preparing for the next Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Memory transported him to the headmaster's office, and there was Albus Dumbledore, sitting behind a desk in his throne-like chair, blue eyes twinkling from behind half-moon spectacles. In the dungeons he would find Snape mixing up potion ingredients, while below, in the kitchens, Dobby was preparing dinner with the other house-elves. Back in Gryffindor Tower, Ron was slumped in an armchair by the fire while Hermione, her nose stuck in a book, looked up periodically to chide him for neglecting his homework. And Harry knew that if he just opened his eyes, Ginny would run toward him with a hard, blazing look on her face. . .

Harry opened his eyes and Ginny was looking at him, but she was not fifteen any more, she was thirty-five, and her face was creased in a frown.

"I should have insisted we put this off until tomorrow," she said. "You're exhausted, Harry, and no wonder after the night you had."

"I'm all right," Harry insisted. He brushed back a wisp of hair that had come out of the ponytail she'd tied it into that morning. "Are you sure you're all right with this? You honestly don't mind? I feel like I'm using you to help with this case. It just feels wrong."

"Don't be silly. I'm delighted to help and I'm pleased you asked me. And I'm really impressed with what you've accomplished, Harry. I don't think I told you that when we talked this morning."

"No, you didn't," Harry acknowledged. "But I'm glad you think so."

"I know I complain about your job," said Ginny, ducking her head as though she were a little embarrassed. "I still don't like the long hours or the way you exhaust yourself. But this whole situation, horrible as it's been, has given me a new perspective. It's been a revelation, in a way."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Could it be, was it possible, that he wasn't the only one who'd had an epiphany? "What do you mean, a revelation?"

"It's shown me a little more of what you do," said Ginny. "Better still, it's helped me understand why you do it. It's all about preventing it from ever happening again, isn't it? And in a way, it's . . . well, yes. In a way, I think it's really about us."

Harry felt his lips curve into a smile. "Well said. That's _exactly_ what it's about. It's what it's always been about."

"I'm not backing away from my original position, mind," Ginny said, apparently sensing he'd spotted a chink in her defenses. "I still think you need to strike a better balance between work and family, but. . . well, I know I don't say it often enough, but I'm proud of you, Harry. I'm very proud of you."

"You are?" said Harry. He hadn't meant it to come out that way, as if he'd never suspected such a thing, but that was the way it sounded. And, come to think of it, he _was_ a little surprised.

"Of course I am. I've always been proud of you. Why would you ask?"

Harry shrugged. "You seem to get awfully annoyed with me sometimes. And sometimes I feel like you have every right to be. I don't tell you things. I keep secrets. I've led you and the children into terrible danger. Sometimes I feel that I've let you down, Ginny. Sometimes I wonder why you put up with me."

"Harry," said Ginny, who seemed torn between laughter and exasperation. "Of course I get annoyed with you. You're a _man_. Men do very annoying things sometimes. But you haven't let me down, and I _am_ proud of you." She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "You're my knight in shining armor, Harry. Don't you know that?"

Harry could not begin to tell her what this meant to him. It made him feel that he could climb the tallest mountain, slay the fiercest dragon, defeat any number of Dark Wizards. But he had one more question. "Are you happy, Ginny? Because I want you to be."

Ginny smiled a slow, sweet smile that made his heart feel as if it were dancing a tango. "I'm Mrs. Harry Potter, aren't I? That's more than enough happiness for one lifetime."

Looking at Ginny, Harry knew that many, many years into the future, when her bright tresses had faded, when her skin sagged and her body bent with age, she would be just as beautiful to him as she was right now. And he would be her true knight all the days of their lives.

Harry bowed in the style of an eighteenth century courtier. "Milady?" he said, holding out his arm.

Playing along, Ginny dipped into a curtsy. "Kind sir," she replied, and together they climbed back through the portrait hole and made their way toward the dungeons.


	11. Chapter 11

**THE LETTER**

_**A/N:**__ After the pleasant lull at the end of the last chapter, this one takes you back up the cliff where I'll have to leave you hanging again, at least for a little while. A few more plot twists and turns are in store, and soon we'll be heading to the Burrow for a Weasley family reunion which promises to be anything but dull. Happy reading and remember to keep those cards and letters (otherwise known as reviews) coming!_

**Chapter Eleven**

Zabini was restocking the student cupboards in the potions classroom and so didn't immediately notice Harry standing in the doorway. When he did, he gave an almost comical start and nearly dropped the box he was holding which Harry could see was marked _Bezoars_.

"Potter," he said. "What are you. . ." Then he noticed the small, red-haired figure beside Harry and his breath escaped him in a kind of sibilant sigh.

"Hello, Blaise," Ginny said with a hesitant smile.

Zabini's eyes passed from Ginny to Harry and back again. It seemed to take him awhile, but he finally managed to arrange his features in their customary sneer.

"If you wanted to give your wife a treat, Potter, surely you could have thought of someplace a little more, er, romantic to take her," said Zabini, with a sweep of his free hand about the dungeon.

"May we come in?" Harry asked.

Zabini gave a jerky little nod that Harry interpreted as assent. He led Ginny into the classroom, closing the door behind them. Zabini had perched himself on the edge of a desk and was turning the bezoars over in his hand as though the writing on the side of the box was the most fascinating thing he'd ever read. He was, Harry noted, studiously avoiding Ginny.

"It's good to see you again, Blaise," Ginny said. "It's been a long time."

"Has it?" said Zabini, darting a quick look in her direction before returning his attention to the bezoars.

"Eighteen years," Ginny said.

"That long?" said Zabini, still not looking at her. "Well, that's. . . It's very. . ." He seemed momentarily at a loss for words, but recovered quickly. "Surely the two of you didn't come all this way for a trip down memory lane. What have I done to deserve the honor?"

"There's news of your cousin," Harry replied.

Zabini blinked. "You found him? Does he have the formulas? When can I . . . "

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "He's dead."

There was a long, very pregnant pause. "He was found at the bottom of a well near Ottery St. Catchpole last night," Harry went on. "Someone killed him and then dumped him there. They found the body last night."

Zabini expelled a long breath, but his face remained impassive. "The formulas?"

"Sorry. No."

Zabini said nothing. "I'm sorry," Harry said again. "I know this comes as a blow. . ."

"A blow?" said Zabini with a mirthless laugh. "That's an interesting way of putting it."

"Whoever killed your cousin has the formulas," Harry said. "I'm sure of it. I need your help to find them, Zabini. That is, if you're still interested."

Zabini placed the little box of bezoars in the cupboard. "I don't know what you think I can do. I've already told you all I know."

"I don't think you have," said Harry. "I think you know where McLaggen is. Or at least you have a pretty good idea where he _might_ be."

Zabini's back stiffened, but he did not turn around. "I don't know why you'd think that. As I told you the other day, I barely knew McLaggen. I introduced him to Claude, that's all. I haven't had occasion to seek him out since."

"But he sought you out, didn't he?" said Harry. "He found out something about you. Maybe not you in particular, but someone close to you."

Zabini turned slowly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think he blackmailed you. You and your mother. I think that's why you introduced him to your cousin and persuaded him to offer McLaggen a job. It was a bribe to keep him silent."

"What a load of utter rubbish," Zabini said dismissively.

"I also think he used that knowledge to embroil Attor in the potions scheme," Harry continued as if Zabini had not spoken. "Not that your cousin likely needed much persuading. He wasn't the type to shrink from dangerous potions, was he? Not even those that kill with the efficiency and undetectability of the _Avada Kedavra_ Curse. After all, he'd already used them on at least seven different occasions."

Zabini's face was tight and angry. "You've missed your calling, Potter. You ought to be writing fiction."

"Attor panicked, though," Harry went on. "Something happened to frighten him and he tried to pull out. But he was much too knowledgeable to be allowed to live with his knowledge. The last time you saw him, you said he seemed terrified. Did he know his life was in danger?"

"You already have all the answers," said Zabini. "Why ask me?"

"You didn't seem terribly surprised just now when I told you that your cousin was dead," Harry said. "Why is that, Zabini?"

"I didn't have anything to do with his death, if that's what you're asking."

"I wasn't suggesting you did. But I do think you already knew about it. Or at least you had a pretty strong suspicion. In fact, I think you knew that when you came to see me the other day. But Attor wasn't really your chief concern, was he? That's what you told me so I wouldn't suspect what you already knew. But I'd be willing to bet that you're far less grieved over our discovery of your cousin's body than you are about the fact that we didn't find the formulas at the bottom of that well alongside him."

Zabini said nothing, but a muscle worked in his jaw. "I'm in a position to offer you a deal, Zabini," said Harry. "I've already spoken with the Ministry's chief prosecutor."

"You're delusional, Potter," Zabini spat. "Especially if you think I'm going to have anything to do with that Mudblood. . ."

"Don't call her that!"

Zabini's eyes snapped to Ginny, who had spoken for the first time in a long while. "She's my sister-in-law," Ginny said. "She's also one of the most gifted witches I've ever known. Don't call her that, please."

Zabini's gaze faltered at the coldness in Ginny's voice. He turned his back again and, with considerably less bravado, asked, "Why would I need a deal? Am I under suspicion?"

"Other than for withholding evidence about a known fugitive, you mean?" Harry replied. "Actually, Zabini, I was thinking of your mother. Help us find McLaggen, and your cooperation will be weighed against anything he might have to tell us about her. I'm also prepared to arrange protection for both of you. No one will be able to touch you until this matter is resolved."

"It's the right thing to do, Blaise," Ginny said. "It's the best thing for you and the best thing for your conscience. I know you have one. I've seen it."

Zabini still had his back turned. Ginny walked over to him, placing her hand on his arm. He leapt as though burned, staring at her as if she had just tried to hex him. Undaunted, she touched him again and this time he did not pull away.

"I know what it means to be afraid for someone you love," Ginny said quietly. "These people threatened our children, and I've been terribly afraid for them. I'm sure your mother would understand. You wouldn't be half so devoted to her if she wasn't equally devoted to you."

Harry was a little uneasy about the direction Ginny was taking. He wasn't sure sentiment was the best tactic to use with someone like Zabini.

"They're good children, Blaise," Ginny was saying. "We have three, two boys and a girl, and they're all so beautiful. I have pictures. Would you like to see them?"

Zabini stared, mesmerized, as Ginny removed several moving photographs from the pocket of her robes. Harry recognized them even from a distance. He had taken them himself just this past summer.

"This is James," Ginny said. "He's our oldest. A bit of a handful at times, but he's a good boy, really. He's starting Hogwarts this year. You'll have him in your potions classes. And that's Al. Well, _we _call him Al. His name is really Albus. Albus Severus."

"Severus?" said Zabini. "You named him after. . ."

"Professor Snape. Yes, it was Harry's idea. I wasn't too sure at first, but Harry said Severus Snape was one of the bravest men he ever knew. Even though he was a Slytherin."

Zabini continued staring at the pictures. "The little girl," he said. "She looks like you."

"That's Lily," said Ginny with a warm, maternal smile. "Our baby. Although not such a baby any more. She's eight now. A few more years and she'll be at Hogwarts too."

Something in the atmosphere had changed, though it was hard to say just what it was. It seemed that Ginny had introduced something human into the situation, and Harry had sense enough to maintain his silence.

Zabini handed the pictures back to Ginny. "I'll be glad to have them in my potions classes."

Ginny smiled. "They'll be lucky to have you for a teacher."

There was an awkward silence as Ginny tucked the pictures back into her robes. "I think I'll go see Hagrid," she said. "And let the two of you. . . you know, finish up."

Harry walked her to the door of the classroom. "I don't suppose I could talk you into becoming an Auror?" he whispered as she stepped into the corridor.

"You couldn't afford me!" she whispered back and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before disappearing through the door.

When Harry turned back to look at him, Zabini's face was thunderous. "What's next, Potter? Having her pop out of a cake?"

Harry, who realized this was Zabini's way of covering up what he clearly regarded as weakness, held his temper in check. Nevertheless, he said, "Zabini, I need your cooperation. I hope you'll see that it's in your own best interests to do so. But if you ever again dare to suggest that I would do anything to dishonor my wife, you will regret it very much indeed."

"Tough talk, Potter," Zabini sneered. "I wasn't the one who dragged her into this."

"She's already in it!" Harry snapped. "I think she made that point quite clearly just a few minutes ago. I didn't need to drag her anywhere. And just so you know, she actually thought an appeal to your better nature would be the only push you needed to convince you to do the right thing. She thinks there's something very decent about you. Personally, I think she's been deluded."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that I think all you care about is your own self-interest. Oh, yes, she told me about that whole business eighteen years ago, but you still don't fool me, Zabini. Don't tell _me_ you didn't enjoy looking like a lothario in front of all those other Slytherin buffoons!"

"How dare you!" said Zabini, outraged.

"I dare a lot of things, Zabini. I always have. So what's it going to be? Is her faith in you justified, or would you rather prove me right?"

Zabini stared at Harry, breathing hard. Finally he said, "How do I know you won't sell me out once I give you what you want?"

"You don't," said Harry. "But I don't see that you have a lot of choice. I can arrest you right now for obstructing justice. Maybe we can even find a cell for Mummy right next to yours. That way you can watch her die."

There was pure hatred in Zabini's face, but Harry knew his point had been made. He had clipped the raven's wings. The only question was whether or not he would caw loudly enough to bring in their quarry.

"Where is he, Zabini?" Harry prompted. "Where's McLaggen?"

Zabini's shoulders seemed to sag. He dropped into a chair as if all the strength had suddenly left him and let his head fall into his hands. "I don't know. I don't know where he is."

"So help me, Zabini. . ."

"It's the _truth_, Potter! I met with him about a week ago, but I didn't know where he was then and I don't know now."

"How did you manage to meet with him then?"

"Claude told me how to contact him," Zabini said dully. "There's an abandoned shop in Knockturn Alley just down the street from Borgin and Burke's. I left a scrap of parchment in a rusty old cauldron under the stairs. When I went back the next day, there was a different scrap of parchment listing a date, time, and location. When I arrived at the specified location, there was a portkey waiting. It took me to a forest clearing. I think it was someplace in Devon, but I couldn't say for sure."

Harry regarded him. "What did you talk about?"

"The formulas, obviously. He told me he would give me the one I wanted in exchange for. . . for agreeing to work with them."

Harry had suspected this too. They needed an expert to work with these potions and there weren't many wizards with Zabini's skill. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him I needed to think about it."

"And what did he say to that?"

"He told me not to think too long. He said his partner, whoever the hell that is, wouldn't wait forever. They're working on an important deal and needed someone to make large amounts of these potions as quickly as possible."

"Did he say who the 'deal' was with?"

"No," said Zabini. "But Claude mentioned something. It was the reason he wanted out. They're making arrangements to sell the potions to some Muggle terrorist organization."

Harry felt his blood run cold. The temperature in the dungeons seemed to have dropped by at least thirty degrees. "McLaggen told you that?"

"No," said Zabini. "I heard that from Claude, the last time I saw him, in fact. A lot of it was drunken babbling, but I sorted through enough of it to work out what was going on. Apparently they tried to convince him to go along with them. It's only Muggles killing Muggles, they told him. But Claude was scared. The idea terrified him."

It terrified Harry, too. "But. . .they. . .Even . . . even if they left the country, they couldn't . . . the International Code of Secrecy. . . How did they ever imagine they could get away with it?"

"Claude's Firewhiskey-induced tirade explained that too. They think Muggles are so stupid, they'd never realize the magical properties of the potions they were using. All they need to be told is that it's a substance capable of killing without leaving any kind of trace. Apparently there's a huge international market, but Claude didn't want anything to do with it. So he tried to back out, and the rest, as they say, is history. Or rather _he_ became history, and that's just what'll happen to me if they find out I know anything about their plans. I don't think they know Claude told me anything, and I'd like to keep it that way, if it's all the same to you."

"Don't worry," said Harry in a voice hoarse with shock. His mind was spinning with the implications of what he had just learned. "I'm heading back to the Ministry immediately. I'll arrange for your protection straightaway."

"The formulas?" Zabini asked coldly.

"If we find them, you'll receive a copy of the one you need," Harry promised.

"And what about. . . the other?"

"What you've just told me should go a long way toward mitigating any charges. You've been tremendously helpful, Zabini. More helpful than I could have imagined, in fact. I can't promise there will be no consequences, but I'll use every ounce of influence I have to ensure that what you've done here today is taken into account by all those in authority."

Zabini searched his face for signs of posturing or pretense. "I don't know why I should believe you, Potter."

"I don't know why I should believe you either," said Harry. "But I reckon Ginny may have been right about you after all."

Zabini shook Harry's hand. "Try not to get me killed, Potter."

Harry offered him a wan smile. "I'll do my best, Blaise."

Ginny was having tea with Hagrid when Harry arrived. A plate of rock cakes sat on the table, though Ginny obviously had enough sense not to touch them. One of Hagrid's oversized cups was in front of her. She had just taken a drink when Harry burst through the door, causing her to spill most of it down the front of her robes.

Harry!" boomed Hagrid, who managed to look almost exactly the same as he did when Harry was at Hogwarts. There might have been a bit more gray in his hair and beard, and the broad back may have been a little more stooped, but otherwise he was the same wild-looking, too-big-to-be-allowed figure he had always been.

"Good ter see ya, mate, good ter see ya!" said Hagrid, whacking Harry on the back with such enthusiasm that his knees buckled. "Me and Ginny was just havin' a cuppa an' we. . ."

"Sorry, Hagrid, we can't stay," Harry said. "Ginny, we have to go."

"Right now?" said Ginny. "But we were supposed to stay to dinner . . ."

"Hagrid will make our excuses," Harry said, grabbing Ginny's hand and practically dragging her from Hagrid's house. "Please give Professor McGonagall our apologies, won't you, Hagrid? Tell her I'll explain everything later."

"But. . ." said Hagrid, clearly bewildered by the abrupt departure. "Can't yer stay even a mo'? I was just tellin' Ginny here about Grawpy's new lady friend . . ."

"Sorry, Hagrid," Harry called back over his shoulder. "Urgent Ministry business. Terribly urgent. Got to go. Can't stop. I'll explain later, I promise."

"Harry!" said Ginny as Harry rushed her back toward the castle. "What's going on? What happened after I left you and Blaise?"

"I'll explain later," Harry said for what felt like the millionth time as Neville came bounding out of the castle toward them.

"Got your patronus message, Harry," said Neville. "What's up?"

"We need you to open the gates for us again, Neville," Harry said. "We have to get back to London straight away. Something's come up, we won't be able to stay to dinner after all. And listen, Neville, I need for you to deliver an important message to Professor McGonagall. I'll be sending Aurors up here later this afternoon to guard Professor Zabini. I'll explain why later, but in the meantime he is not to leave the castle for any reason, under any circumstances. Understood?"

"Sure, Harry," said Neville. "Whatever you say. We all trust you, you know that."

"Harry," Ginny said as they hurried down the path toward the gates. "You're so pale and . . . Merlin's beard, you're actually shaking! What's happened? You're acting as though all hell's broken loose or something."

"Not yet," Harry replied grimly. "But it may be just about to."

_**A/N:**__ Yes, I know, another cliffhanger, but I have to do SOMETHING to keep you reading, don't I? Ha! Thanks so much for staying with the story, and please remember that reviews have an almost magical ability to make my fingers fly across the keyboard at an astonishing speed!_


	12. Chapter 12

**THE LETTER**

_**A/N:**__ The pace picks up to warp speed in this chapter. Answers are revealed, but more questions are raised. This one's a roller-coaster ride, so hang onto your hats!_

**Chapter Twelve**

McLaggen was shackled to a chair when Harry entered the interrogation room. On either side of him were the Aurors who had made the capture. One sported a blackened eye, the other a bloody nose, and both were staring daggers at their prisoner.

"Good job, lads," Harry said. "I'll take it from here. Go and get yourselves cleaned up, all right?"

The Aurors left to have their injuries tended to and Harry took a seat at the head of a long table. He motioned for the stenographer who had accompanied him to be seated as well, and took a long, hard look at the man who had been the focus of so much time, energy, and concern. McLaggen's wiry hair was matted and filthy, and the tattered robes hanging off his oversized frame gave evidence to the fact that he had been living under Spartan conditions. He was much thinner than Harry remembered, and several livid bruises testified to the ferocious battle that ensued when the Aurors surprised him. But the eyes staring out of the large, red face were insolent, and he somehow managed to give the impression of swaggering, even though he was sitting down.

"Well, Cormac," said Harry in a conversational tone. "You've been a very naughty boy."

"All right then, you've got me," McLaggen said, as a huge, angry vein pulsed in his temple. "Go ahead and send me back to Azkaban. See how long I stay there!"

Harry's brows shot up. "Awfully confident for a man in as much trouble as you are, aren't you?"

"You can't keep me locked up," McLaggen retorted. "You couldn't before and you won't be able to this time. You're not as clever as you think you are, Potter."

He neglected to add, "So there!" The blustering fool clearly had no idea what a narrow escape he'd had. Zabini's information had made capturing McLaggen almost childishly simple. He'd been waiting at the other end of the portkey, in the exact same forest Zabini had described, and after a brief, albeit fierce, scuffle, the Aurors had brought McLaggen in. Seeing him now, Harry could not help reflecting on the fact that this was a man who had once eaten a pound of Doxy eggs on a dare. He really is a troll, Harry thought: all brawn, no brains, and absurdly easy to manipulate.

"I have every intention of sending you back to Azkaban," Harry assured him. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll stay there. But before I do, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"I shouldn't have thought the famous Harry Potter would lower himself," said McLaggen. "Don't you have people for this sort of thing?"

"My 'people,' as you put it, are otherwise engaged," said Harry, thinking of Scrimgeour who was currently at the Leaky Cauldron with Teddy, faithful Teddy, constant Teddy, at his side. "However, we are shortly to be joined by several others. Speaking of which, would you mind seeing what's keeping our guests, Derek?"

The stenographer disappeared for several minutes, and returned with a cast of characters that caused McLaggen's brow to furrow.

"Allow me to make introductions," Harry said as everyone took seats around the table. "This is Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic; Percy Weasley, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; and I believe you already know our chief prosecutor, Hermione Granger-Weasley."

"Weasley, eh?" said McLaggen with an impudent cackle. "Looks like the road to success at the Ministry these days is paved with _weasels_."

Percy's face went red and he started to rise from his chair, but Hermione stopped him with a restraining hand on his arm.

"The Weasleys attained their positions through a combination of talent and hard work," Shacklebolt said in his calm, deep voice. "You, on the other hand, appear to have attempted a few shortcuts, and I'm afraid it's going to cost you dearly, though it'll certainly go much easier should you decide to cooperate."

McLaggen's scowl deepened. "What do you want?"

"Why don't you start with the threats you made against the Potter children?" Shacklebolt suggested.

"It's not as though we ever meant to carry it out," said McLaggen, as if they'd all been fools to take the matter seriously. "It was just to get _him_. . ." He nodded in Harry's direction. ". . .off our backs until we could re-establish our business in a new location."

"Business," said Shacklebolt disdainfully. "That's what you call what you've been doing, is it?"

"I can't even begin to tote up the laws you've broken, Cormac," Hermione intoned in a voice of the most severe disapproval. "And whether or not you intended to carry out the threat against Harry's children – my niece and nephews by the way – it'll definitely count against you when we go to trial."

"How did someone like you end up in Gryffindor?" asked Percy, glowering. "The Sorting Hat must have been having an off day when you turned up at Hogwarts."

Harry found himself agreeing with Percy and wondered how McLaggen could have fallen so far, though he already knew at least part of the answer. Without family connections to bolster his rather limited abilities, McLaggen had found opportunities lacking in the post-war wizarding world. Harry knew that he had tried out for a couple of minor league Quidditch teams, and when that failed he had turned to petty crime. Left to his own devices he might have ended up another Mundungus Fletcher, but he had been roped into a much larger scheme and somewhere along the way he seemed to have misplaced his last shred of conscience. It really was a wonder that someone like that had been sorted into Gryffindor. But Peter Pettigrew had also been a Gryffindor, and Harry had grown up an orphan because of him.

"We are also rather interested," Shacklebolt was saying, "in a plan we recently heard about to sell these potions of yours to Muggles."

McLaggen blinked, disconcerted. "How do you know. . ."

"Never mind how we know," said Percy. "It's true then?"

McLaggen shrugged. "I wasn't too sure about it at first, but there's a lucrative market for products like ours. . ."

Hermione looked appalled. "Cormac, did you not even care how many innocent people could be hurt?"

"Innocent?" McLaggen scoffed. "Since when have Muggles been innocent? They do a pretty good job of killing each other even without our help. Just read their newspapers. They're always going about blowing each other up, and a very messy business it is too. At least with our potions the whole thing is much neater, and when you get right down to it, it's a lot more humane. . ."

"_Humane_?" said Percy, outraged. "You're not talking about cattle, man! Forty years my father has been working to improve Wizard-Muggle relations, and then someone like you comes along. . ."

"Percy, please," Shacklebolt implored. "We really need to get to the bottom of this."

"Sorry, Minister," replied Percy, ashamed of his undignified outburst. "Very unprofessional of me. Got a bit carried away for awhile there."

"Perfectly understandable," said Shacklebolt. "You've said 'we' several times, McLaggen. To whom does that refer? Who is your, er, partner in this venture?"

McLaggen's bravado vanished. "I can't tell you that. I _won't_ tell you!"

"I'm afraid you have no choice. We can use Veritaserum, if you force our hand."

Stark terror was now evident in McLaggen's face. "I. . . I can't!"

"This isn't about some misguided sense of loyalty, is it?" asked Harry. "Because as soon as he has what he wants, this so-called partner of yours will do the same thing to you that he did to Claude Attor."

"How. . . how do you. . ?"

"We found the body," Harry explained. "We know how it happened. Not only that, but we know why."

"If you already know, why do you need me?" McLaggen demanded, clearly looking for an out.

"We need your evidence to secure a conviction," Hermione explained. "As soon as you corroborate the charges, we'll arrest him."

"I-I-I didn't have anything to do with C-C-Claude," McLaggen stammered. "I never thought. . . I wouldn't have believed . . . I'm not a murderer! You have to believe me!"

"We know you're not the mastermind behind this operation, McLaggen," Harry said. "Help us arrest the man who is and you'll be safe. He can't touch you if he's locked up inside Azkaban."

"No!" McLaggen shouted. "You. . . you can't make me! He has people, influential people. . . They're everywhere! You have no idea. . ."

"What people?" Harry demanded. "What are you talking about? Who are they?"

"I don't know," said McLaggen in a voice of abject desperation. "He used several go-betweens, but I never knew who they were. He . . . he didn't trust me. He said I was weak. He thought I might crack under pressure. That's why he got me out of Azkaban. He was afraid I'd talk and . . . and if he finds out. . ."

"He won't be able to communicate with anyone once we have him in custody," Shacklebolt assured him.

"The only way you'll be safe is if you give us enough evidence to convict him," said Hermione.

"As long as he remains at liberty, you're at risk," Harry added.

"The news of your arrest is bound to get out sooner or later," concluded Percy.

McLaggen stared at the four pairs of eyes trained on him, as though hoping to find a flicker of pity. "Give us his name, McLaggen," Harry urged him. "It's the only way."

McLaggen flexed his forearms as though trying to rid himself of the iron rings that bound him to the chair, but found them as unyielding as the faces surrounding him. His eyes rolled wildly in their sockets and he took several gasping breaths that sounded like death rattles. Shackled and bound, his mouth open in a kind of silent scream, he looked like an animal caught in a trap and seemed just about ready to gnaw his own leg off. Almost, Harry could feel sorry for him. Almost, but not quite.

At last McLaggen appeared to realize the hopelessness of his situation. His chin dropped onto his chest and he opened his mouth again, but the sound that emerged was so faint that everyone had to lean in to hear him. In a voice hoarse with fear, he uttered just one word, but it was the one word Harry had been waiting to hear:

"_Scrimgeour!" _

------------

Once McLaggen had been bundled off to Azkaban, the Minister held a kind of mini-celebration in his office, but Harry couldn't enjoy it. He had immediately sent a team of Aurors to the Leaky Cauldron to arrest Rowan Scrimgeour, but feelings of unease prevailed, not least of all because Ted was in such a vulnerable position. Needing to get Scrimgeour out of the way lest he learn something from the Ministry grape-vine which no amount of security ever seemed to completely vanquish, Harry sent Scrimgeour on what amounted to a wild goose chase. Scrimgeour's instructions had been to go to a certain room above the Leaky Cauldron and wait for a contact that, he had been told, would provide information regarding McLaggen's whereabouts. It only made sense for Teddy, his faithful "shadow" to accompany him, though Ted's orders, given in private by Harry himself, were to prevent Scrimgeour from leaving the Leaky Cauldron at all costs. Teddy had, of course, been informed of McLaggen's capture and was aware that an arrest was likely to be forthcoming, but he was to act as if this were just an ordinary assignment and the posture of wide-eyed innocence he'd maintained for the past several weeks would ensure that Scrimgeour's suspicions were not aroused.

Ted's assignment since the beginning had been to watch Scrimgeour's every move, both during the day and after hours when being a metamorphmagus had come in especially handy. Nighttime shifts had been shared with other trusted Aurors to allow Ted time to sleep and report to Harry. The brunt of it, however, had been carried on Ted's own shoulders, and Harry had been wondering how best to acknowledge what had truly been a remarkable effort. Perhaps not an Order of Merlin, but Harry was considering a "Mad-Eye," an award created in memory of Alastor Moody to reward Aurors of special merit. Although it had never before been given to a trainee, Harry could not recall another trainee who had performed the way Ted had, and he'd spent a number of hours imagining the look on Ted's face when he personally presented the award to his godson. But no such pleasant musings came to distract him now, for a sense of something not quite right clung to him, like thick, gray cobwebs clogging up his mind. He certainly didn't feel like celebrating yet, and knew that he would not relax until Ted was safely back at the Ministry.

"Tell me, Harry," said Percy, handing Harry a Firewhiskey from the Minister's private stores. "How did you make the connection between McLaggen and Scrimgeour?"

"I remembered a comment McLaggen made years ago," Harry replied, grateful for something else to think about. "It was something about a hunting trip he'd taken with his uncle and Rufus Scrimgeour. Then Hermione mentioned McLaggen turning up at the Ministry to visit a friend, and a little checking verified a family connection that went back several generations. Of course there was also the potions exam. . ."

"Potions exam?" said Shacklebolt.

"McLaggen received an Outstanding on his potions N.E.W.T.," explained Hermione who had refused Percy's offer of a drink, given her intolerance for strong spirits. "We knew it was something he couldn't possibly have achieved on his own."

"Scrimgeour, on the other hand, received several potions awards while he was at Hogwarts," Harry continued. "Given the history between their families and what appears to have been a personal friendship between the two of them, I'm guessing he took the exam for McLaggen using Polyjuice Potion."

Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was seated behind a massive desk, shook his head sadly as he sipped his own drink. "I remember Rufus boasting about his son's talent in potions. Hard to believe a man like that could have produced such a son. Whatever his faults, Rufus was a basically decent sort and he was a very brave Auror. But I know the entire family suffered after his murder. His widow, Vivienne, became quite bitter in fact, and I suppose she must have passed that on to her son." He paused as Harry looked at his watch for the fourth time in the past minute. "Are we keeping you from anything, Harry?"

"No," Harry said. "Sorry, I just. . . I won't feel entirely at ease until I know for sure that Scrimgeour is in custody. I half wish I'd gone along and made the arrest myself."

"You're too easily recognized, Harry!" said Percy, who rather enjoyed having a famous brother-in-law. "People see that scar coming from a mile away."

"I know," Harry said darkly. "And a bloody nuisance it is, too. It was always a problem when I was doing field work."

"Why else do you think we promoted you, Harry?" said Shacklebolt, smiling. "Confining you to an office was the only way to keep you out of the limelight."

Everyone laughed. "And here I was, thinking it had to do with my abilities," Harry grinned. "So much for your merit-based system, Minister."

"Ah, well," said Kingsley once the laughter died down. "I'm just glad I won't have to make another trip to see the Muggle Prime Minister. He was upset enough when I told him about McLaggen's escape from Azkaban. I shudder to imagine his reaction had I been forced to disclose a plan to sell magical potions to terrorists."

"Yes, indeed," said Percy with a pompous little nod. "Imagine the consequences! Thank Merlin we nipped _that_ in the bud!"

"What about these 'go-betweens' McLaggen mentioned?" Hermione asked. "Doesn't that worry you at all, Harry?"

"Well, naturally," said Harry, who was feeling a little more relaxed now, thanks to the whiskey. "But as soon as we have Scrimgeour, we'll get all the names and round up the lot of them. It's like I said to McLaggen, I've known all along Scrimgeour was the mastermind behind this whole operation, so once we have him. . ."

Harry broke off as a silver wolf soared through the office door and landed on the Minister's desk. Everyone stared as the wolf opened its muzzle and spoke in Ted's voice: _"He knows!"_

"What the. . ." said Percy as Hermione blinked in confusion and Kingsley Shacklebolt leapt to his feet. Harry was already on his way out the door.

"Something's gone wrong!" he yelled over his shoulder, not even bothering to see if anyone was following him as he ran full out toward the lifts. Heart hammering, Harry punched the button for the Atrium and dashed out the instant the grilled doors clanged open, pushing people out of his way until he reached one of the marble fireplaces. Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, he stepped into the fire, shouted, "The Leaky Cauldron!" and immediately felt himself spinning in a tight spiral as emerald flames erupted around him.

When Harry opened his eyes, he could see several patrons, distracted from their drinking and looking rather alarmed as they stared at the wooden staircase leading to the guest rooms where a disturbance of some kind appeared to have taken place. Hannah Longbottom had just started up the stairs to see what had happened when Harry ran past her.

"Harry!" Hannah called after him. "What's going on? We just heard. . ."

But Harry didn't stop to explain. Robes flapping around him, he tore down the hall until he reached the room where he knew Scrimgeour had been waiting. The door had been flung wide open and several Aurors were crouched over something on the floor. Harry caught a flash of green and felt his heart sink to the soles of his feet as he shoved the Aurors unceremoniously aside. A quick glance around the room told him there was no sign whatsoever of Rowan Scrimgeour. But on the floor, lying much too still for comfort, was the unconscious form of Ted Lupin.

_**A/N:**__ Yeah, yeah, I know. I've done it again. (Enough with the cliffhangers already, I can hear you shouting!) Stick with me just a little while longer as it's all coming to a head soon. Stay tuned and remember the magical flying fingers spell: the more reviews I receive, the faster updates come. It works like a charm! _


	13. Chapter 13

**THE LETTER**

_**A/N:**__ Time for a breather. This chapter provides an emotional break before heading off to the Burrow for high jinx and even more dramatic twists and turns. _

_This chapter is dedicated to "Bad Mum" who writes Bill and Fleur better than anyone and has graciously permitted me to join their fan club._

**Chapter Thirteen**

Teddy finally regained consciousness at St. Mungo's after several anxious hours, during which Harry could hardly bring himself to even look at Andromeda Tonks. To make matters worse, Victoire turned up in the evening, accompanied by her parents who commiserated with Teddy's grandmother while Harry endured forty-five minutes worth of death stares from his niece.

"Victoire, stop scowling!" Fleur scolded as they sat awaiting news in the Relatives Room at St. Mungo's. "Eet is most unattractive, and I theenk Teddy would not wish to see such a face when 'e wakes up."

Harry had a pretty strong suspicion that Teddy would be delighted to see Victoire, no matter what face she presented. Ted's undercover assignment had kept the young couple apart for several weeks, and at sixteen and eighteen respectively, even a few days could seem like a lifetime. Their relationship was relatively new and still an open secret within the family. As the oldest Weasley grandchild, Victoire was closest in age to Teddy, and the two had always hung round together at family gatherings. According to Ginny, Victoire had harbored a secret crush on Teddy for ages, but he always treated her like a kid sister until the summer before his final year at Hogwarts when he came home from an extended holiday with his grandmother. Ted had been standing in the overgrown garden at the Burrow, telling Harry and Ron about his travels, when Victoire came out of the house.

Ron and Harry exchanged amused grins as Ted, looking positively gobsmacked, stared at Bill and Fleur's daughter. The entire family had been buzzing over Victoire's transformation, seemingly overnight, from a skinny, awkward, somewhat giggly girl to a poised young woman who combined the attractiveness of both parents in a dazzling package that included brains as well as beauty. What was mere carrots on the heads of most Weasleys was shimmering titian on Victoire, and her figure had bloomed into curves that seemed completely at odds with a bookish maturity that had recently earned her a prefect's badge. Teddy and Victoire had always enjoyed each other's company, but Ted had been away just long enough to see with fresh eyes the newly blossomed rose, and the sight of his face that summer afternoon was enough for anyone who saw it to realize he was a goner.

Nevertheless, the fact that they had become something more than friends, though tacitly acknowledged by all the adults in the family, was not yet openly recognized for reasons that Harry couldn't begin to understand. Whatever the mystery behind it all, it made the present situation that much more difficult, as Harry couldn't very well commiserate with Victoire over Teddy if he wasn't supposed to know they were involved. Conversely, she couldn't relieve her anxiety by berating him, as Harry knew she was longing to do, for placing Ted in harm's way while still pretending to be unaware that anyone else had a clue. It was all terribly confusing.

Bill must have recognized Harry's internal turmoil, for he pulled up a chair next to him and said quietly, "She's sixteen."

Harry nodded. "She's good at it."

"She doesn't blame you, Harry," said Bill. "Not really. Neither does Andromeda. No one blames you."

"Untrue," Harry replied. "I blame myself."

"Ted's a man," Bill said. "He made his own choices. No one forced him to become an Auror."

Harry gave a short laugh. "You know something, Bill? I told myself the exact same thing when I decided to drag him into this in the first place. Funnily enough, it suddenly sounds like a really lame excuse."

"Don't do this to yourself, Harry," Bill pleaded. "The last time we saw Ted, he told us you'd given him a special assignment. He wouldn't give us any details, of course, but he was absolutely over the moon about it, not least because of the trust you'd placed in him."

"Why is it that the people I trust always end up getting hurt?" Harry asked bitterly. "Ted was untried, untested, and untrained, and I placed him in a dangerous situation for my own selfish reasons. Remus and Tonks placed their trust in me by making me their son's godfather, and I nearly got him killed. What does that tell you?"

Bill regarded him sadly. "I don't suppose I can talk you out of feeling guilty, any more than I can stop myself playing big brother to the world. All I can say is that you've always acted according to your lights, and your light has spared the rest of us a great deal of darkness. That has to be worth something."

Harry managed a wan smile. Bill's scars had faded with the years until they were almost unnoticeable, at least to those who knew him well. In fact, they seemed to give him a kind of mature dignity, though the long ginger hair, which he still wore in a ponytail, made him seem as youthfully "cool" as ever. Nevertheless, 'Big Brother to the World' was an accurate description of Bill. He was the backbone of his family, and his own light shone pretty brightly, too.

"Thanks, Bill," Harry said. "I appreciate it, I just hope. . . I hope Ted will be all right."

"He'll be fine," Bill assured him. "The healers have already said his injuries don't look all that serious. Where's Ginny, by the way? I would have thought she'd be here."

"She was," Harry said. "But Lily has a cold and she didn't like to leave her very long. Ron and Hermione were here earlier too, but I told them all to go home once we knew Ted wasn't in any immediate danger. No sense everyone waiting around all night."

I don't suppose you have any idea how it happened?" asked Bill.

"Not yet," said Harry. "And I probably won't know until Ted comes around, provided he remembers enough to tell me. He had enough time to cast a Patronus. I know that much. And I know what the team I sent to the Leaky Cauldron found when they arrived. I spoke with a young Auror called Rob Wilkinson who's worked on this case nearly as hard as Ted has, and he filled me in on what happened before I arrived. I guess they thought it might alarm the . . . er, suspect, if the entire team went up at once, so Rob volunteered to go ahead of the others. When he got there he found Ted unconscious from a blow to the back of the head. Though why anyone would need to give him a cracked skull when they could have just stupefied him, I don't. . ." Harry broke off, swallowing hard to rid himself of a lump that had formed in his throat. But Bill seemed to know what he was thinking.

"You think someone tried to kill him?"

Harry shook his head, as much to banish the hideous thought as to deny the possibility. "It doesn't make sense. Why not just use the _Avada Kedavra_ if that was their intention?"

Bill shrugged. "Some wizards have an aversion to using any of the Unforgivable Curses. Too much Dark Magic, I suppose, even if what they're using as a substitute is just as bad."

That would fit Scrimgeour's profile, Harry thought. His father had been Head Auror before becoming Minister for Magic, and the penalties for using an Unforgivable Curse would have been drummed into him since birth.

"Anyway, that's how Rob found him," said Harry. "He sounded an alarm as soon as he saw Ted lying there and everyone ran up the stairs. They were all standing over him when I got there

Harry and Bill both looked up as a healer came in to announce that Ted was conscious and was asking to speak to Harry. Ignoring another dark look from Victoire and Andromeda's haughty resentment, Harry followed the healer to Ted's room. He was propped up in bed on several pillows with a large, white bandage around his head. Harry was relieved to see the tuft of hair showing beneath the bandage was no longer bright green but a calm, tranquil blue. The flash of green Harry had seen when he first entered the room at the Leaky Cauldron had nearly given him heart failure.

"Harry," said Teddy, sounding groggy, but very much in control. "I'm really, really sorry . . ."

"For Merlin's sake, Ted, don't apologize!" Harry exclaimed, pulling up a chair beside him. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"Yes, I do. I let you down. . ."

"No, you didn't," Harry insisted. "If anything, I let you down by getting you into this mess. I had no right to ask it of you, Ted, no right at all."

"You had _every_ right!" Ted replied, looking at Harry incredulously. "Not only because I'm training to be an Auror, but because . . . because it's _you_, Harry. After all you've done for me, my entire life, don't you think I realize how much I owe you?"

The boy could have no idea how much worse he was making Harry feel. "You don't owe me a thing, Ted," he said almost angrily. "Not a damned thing, do you hear me? Whatever I've done for you, if indeed I've done anything at all. . ."

"But you _have_!" Ted insisted. Perhaps it was all the potions they'd given him, but he was more emotional than Harry had ever seen him. "I never knew my father, but I always imagined he must have been something like you. You've been like a father to me, Harry. You've given me so much, in ways you can't even imagine, and I . . . well, I'm grateful to you. I'm grateful for all you've done."

Harry stood up so quickly that the chair he'd been sitting in fell onto its side. He walked to the window, staring at the Muggle street below, but saw nothing because of the sudden tears in his eyes. _I don't deserve this_, he thought. _I don't deserve to hear words like these from this remarkable young man, who is lying there battered and broken because of me._ But even as he thought this, he could hear Ginny saying, "_At what stage of your life do you plan to stop taking all the sins of the world on your shoulders?"_ And almost at the same time the voice of Remus Lupin sounded in his head: _"You'll be godfather? Dora and I agreed. No one better!"_ Teddy was an orphan, just as Harry had been, but Teddy hadn't grown up the same way. Teddy had been wanted. Teddy had been loved. Teddy had a family to turn to in good times and bad, and if he, Harry, helped provide any of that, then maybe his feeble efforts, paltry though they seemed to him, hadn't been in vain.

Harry pulled himself together and returned to Ted, who was looking a little alarmed at having so obviously upset him. "It means a great deal to me to hear you say that, Ted," Harry told him. "And if it means anything to you, I couldn't be prouder or fonder of you than if you were my own son."

Ted grinned a less little woozily than before. Clearly, the potions were wearing off, but his response was every bit as heartfelt. "It means a lot, actually."

Harry looked away to hide his own self-consciousness and seated himself again in the chair he'd knocked over. "Can you tell me what happened? Can you remember any of it?"

"I remember some of it," said Ted. "I've been lying here trying to sort it all out. We were waiting in the room at the Leaky Cauldron. I remember that part very well. Scrimgeour wasn't the least bit nervous. He didn't seem to suspect anything at all. Then all of a sudden he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. . ."

Ted broke off and blinked, frowning. "Did you see what it was?" Harry asked when Ted failed to elaborate.

"No," Ted replied. "But his expression changed. There was something . . . I couldn't say what it was exactly, but I just knew somehow. I knew he realized what was really going on."

"However did you manage to cast a Patronus?" asked Harry. "How did you have time?"

"I disarmed him," Ted explained. "He reached for his wand, but I reached mine first. I remember. . . Yes, I was holding his wand in my left hand. Mine was in my right, and I cast the Patronus. My back was to the door, I think. I heard a bang and then . . . something hit me over the head."

"You didn't see anything?"

Ted shook his head. "I think I may have started to turn around. I don't. . . No, I can't remember for sure. But I didn't see anything. I just felt this sharp blow and then . . . nothing."

Harry looked at Ted, trying to make sense of the jumbled thoughts rolling around in his head, but nothing would come clear. He was too tired to make sense of anything. He'd just have to sort it out tomorrow.

"I should leave you in peace for awhile," said Harry. "Your grandmother wants to look in before you drop off again, and there's a certain young lady outside who would very much like to see you."

Ted blushed. "She. . . I mean. . . She's here?"

Harry nodded and smiled in spite of himself. "Couldn't keep her away."

"I'll see Gran, of course. And, if, er, you know . . ."

"I'll pass the word," Harry said wryly. "Get some rest, Ted. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

Everyone looked up when Harry returned. "He looks a lot better," Harry said. "He's perfectly lucid and he'd really like to see you, Andromeda. And of course anyone else who would like to pay their respects is also welcome."

He deliberately avoided looking at Victoire as he said this. However, at a nod from her father, she walked over to Harry and gave him a hug.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Harry," said Victoire. "I know it's not your fault."

"Thank you, sweet girl." Harry looked into the enormous blue eyes with their long, sweeping lashes. "He's going to be all right."

A blush suffused the lovely young face. "We're _all_ very relieved about that, Uncle Harry," Victoire replied, in a voice so blasé it was downright shrill. "Aren't we, Dad and Maman?"

"Oh, very," said Bill, his lips twitching.

Fleur, who was trying to look casual and failing spectacularly, added, "Some of us a leetle more zan ozzers, perhaps."

Andromeda, smiling kindly, held out her hand to Victoire. "Why don't you come with me, my dear? I'm sure Teddy would love to see you."

"Oh!" said Victoire, blushing even deeper. "Are you sure? Well, if you insist. . ."

"Not too long, Victoire," Bill told his daughter. "He needs his rest, you know."

"And we must return to Shell Cottage," Fleur reminded her, "before your bruzzers destroy ze house."

"I keep telling you, Maman, you should have drowned them at birth!" Victoire called over her shoulder as she and Andromeda made their way, arm and arm, toward Ted's hospital room.

-------------------

It was very late when Harry returned to Grimmauld Place, but Ginny was waiting up for him in the sitting room. "How is he?" she asked.

"Better," said Harry. "Much better, in fact. How's Lily?"

"Still a bit wheezy, but she's on the mend. I'm so glad about Ted, Harry."

"Me, too. Will Lily be well enough for the Burrow this weekend?"

"Oh, yes. Kids bounce, you know." Ginny curled up on the sofa next to Harry and brushed his ever-untidy hair off his forehead. "It's been a dreadful day for you, hasn't it?"

"It didn't start out that way," said Harry. "And actually, it didn't end so badly either. Bill and Fleur showed up after you left. With Victoire, of course."

"Ah," said Ginny with a knowing smile.

"Tell me again what's going on with Teddy and Victoire," Harry said. "Why is it we're all supposed to keep pretending not to see what's blatantly obvious to anyone who isn't actually blind?"

"Part of it is Bill and Fleur. They think Victoire is too young to tie herself down, and I can sort of see their point about that. She still has two years of school left and Teddy has . . . well, he's chosen a rather dangerous career path."

"Yes, I'd spotted that," said Harry dryly. "Thanks for reminding me."

"That's not what I meant," said Ginny. "This isn't your fault, Harry."

Harry shrugged. He was still reserving judgment on that score. "What's the other part?"

"Well, it's romantic, isn't it?" Ginny said. "There's this aura of secrecy and it's all very exciting."

"Is it?" said Harry. "Sounds a bit mad to me."

Ginny smiled. "Maybe you have to be young to understand."

"I suppose. Were we ever like that?"

"Hardly," said Ginny. "Especially since you chose to announce your feelings by kissing me in front of fifty people in the Gryffindor common room."

"I mean around your family. Ron knew, obviously, but we didn't exactly flaunt it in front of the others. In fact, you never even told your parents about us until after the war."

"That's because you broke up with me mere weeks after we started going out and then I didn't see you again for nearly a year."

Harry lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, I understand," said Ginny. "At least I do now. You were being noble, trying to protect me and all that. Though I have to say, there were times when I could have cheerfully strangled you."

"I know," Harry replied. "But I'm glad you didn't say anything to your parents until it was all over. I could just imagine their reactions: 'By the way, Mum and Dad, I'm in love with a boy who's the target of every Dark Wizard in Britain.' That would have been a cheerful conversation."

"They always loved you, Harry," said Ginny. "And I think they knew anyway. They certainly didn't seem surprised when I finally told them. Mum especially. She came upon me crying my eyes out several times during that horrid year, and though she never said anything, I think she knew why. Now that I have children of my own, I understand a little better. Mothers know things. I'm not sure how, we just do."

Harry smiled. "You've always 'known' things."

"I know _you_," Ginny said with a teasing glint in her eyes. "I've had your number for a long time, Potter!"

"Have you?" said Harry. "Sometimes I don't think I'll ever completely know you."

Ginny gave a low, throaty chuckle and trailed her fingers under his collar. "You know me well enough. As a matter of fact, I think you know me pretty well."

It was true, he supposed. After all their years together, he knew her moods, her fears, her joys and sorrows, her likes, her dislikes, her strengths and weaknesses. He knew the way her mind worked and the things that touched her heart. He knew what made her fly into a rage and what made her purr like a contented cat. He knew the precise location of every freckle on her body and the way her eyes glowed when he looked at her in a certain way. If Teddy and Victoire chanced to last as long, someday they might know each other as well. But Harry didn't envy Ted, having to learn it all from scratch. He didn't envy either one of them, not even a little bit.

"Coming to bed?" asked Ginny with a look that Harry knew very well indeed.

Tired as he was, he took Ginny by the hand and led her up the stairs. After the past twenty-four hours, which seemed a hundred years long to him now, it was easily the best offer he'd had all day.

_A/N: Writers write primarily to be read and reviews are one of the few ways we know it's actually happening. Please take just a minute to let me know you passed this way by leaving a review. Thanks!_


	14. Chapter 14

**THE LETTER**

_**A/N:**__ This chapter is a mostly fun excursion into the wonderful world of Weasleys, including a wizarding version of the old Muggle game "Truth or Consequences." However, be prepared for a huge shock at the end when we climb back up the cliff for a hanging you probably didn't anticipate._

**Chapter Fourteen**

They called it "Weasley Weather." Every year when the family gathered at the Burrow in August, the sun seemed to shine continuously, the nights were clear and full of stars, and any hint of rain or fog vanished instantly, as if by a banishing spell, regardless of the forecast. This was why no one paid any attention to a severe storm warning that had been issued a few days prior to the gathering that year. It was August, it was time for the entire family to be together, and Weasley Weather was the order of the day.

It was a good thing that sunshine usually prevailed, for that many Weasleys in one place was enough of a logistical nightmare without throwing adverse climate conditions into the mix. Molly usually went into a frenzy weeks ahead of time, recruiting children, grandchildren, and in-laws to help with preparations, and ordering everyone around like a general with a regiment of highly resentful soldiers. Ron and Hermione had started sending over a small platoon of house-elves to handle the serving and cleaning up, but Molly still had to oversee everything. In addition to providing food and drink for fifty people, there was also the question of where they would all sleep, as tradition required that everyone stay overnight. This was a purely practical arrangement as most of the adults were usually too inebriated to Apparate anywhere without splinching themselves, which was primarily due to Hannah and Neville's annual contribution of several barrels of ale, a couple of casks of mead, and enough bottles of elf-made wine to christen a fleet. Not only did this add to the overall merriment, but even if the Longbottoms hadn't been like family, it would have been more than enough to assure them a return invitation every year.

The Burrow could not hold so many, but with sleeping bags, camp beds, and several tents pitched in the paddock near the orchard, everyone had a place to lay their aching heads. The festivities always included games, jokes, lots of conversation, displays of WWW fireworks, and a series of toasts that grew progressively sillier as the night wore on. There was also plenty of food, for Molly spent days in the kitchen beforehand and everyone brought something, from Fleur's artfully prepared _Mousse au Chocolat_, to Olga's spicy Romanian _koftas_, to Katie's best Shepherd's Pie. Hagrid's contribution was usually a large joint of beef which he roasted in an earthen pit in the garden, while others brought breads, rolls, and puddings, vegetables and meats, sauces and soups, and sweets of every possible variety.

The delicious smells wafting out from the kitchen were the first thing Harry noticed when he, Ginny, and the children, along with Teddy who had been their recent houseguest, arrived at the Burrow early Saturday morning. Hagrid was already there, digging his barbecue pit in the garden, and Andromeda Tonks had turned up at the crack of dawn to help Molly direct the house-elves. The Potters' early arrival, however, was due to Harry's determination to double-check the protective spells around the Burrow and to ensure that the Aurors he'd sent ahead were patrolling their assigned areas. Leading the team of Aurors was Rob Wilkinson, who had volunteered for this duty out of a sense of culpability at having failed to prevent Scrimgeour's escape. "If I'd only gotten there a minute earlier!" he kept saying, and nothing either Harry or Teddy said seemed to relieve his guilt.

"He's a good bloke, Wilkinson," said Teddy, who was released from St. Mungo's two days before the gathering at the Burrow and had been prevailed upon by Harry and Ginny to stay at Grimmauld Place in the interim, as much for his safety as his continued recovery. "I've had a chance to get to know him while we've been working on the case, and he seems a very decent sort. He shouldn't blame himself for what happened."

"Nor should you," Harry said, for Ted had done his own share of penance, as had Harry himself. But there was no point in anyone second-guessing themselves. The important thing was to find Scrimgeour, and toward that end the Ministry had pulled out every stop. Complex spells had been put in place to prevent anyone with magical ability from leaving or entering Britain without the Ministry's knowledge. It had already created a hue and cry among those who wished to travel abroad for business or pleasure, but the stakes were much too high to leave anything to chance.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had spent an extremely uncomfortable hour with the Muggle Prime Minister who became apoplectic when informed of the plot to sell magical potions to terrorists, and Shacklebolt's assurance that everything both humanly and magically possible was being done had accomplished little in the way of bolstering his confidence. So serious was the situation, in fact, that Harry considered sending Ginny and the children on to the Burrow without him, but Shacklebolt dismissed the suggestion out of hand.

"There's nothing more you can do at this stage, Harry," the Minister said when Harry offered to stay in London over the weekend. "Scrimgeour can't leave the country without our knowledge and if he's already escaped, there are people from the Department for International Magical Cooperation working with their counterparts all over the world. We'll track him down eventually, but you've been working day and night, and it won't do anyone any good if you collapse from sheer exhaustion. Go enjoy your family over the weekend and when you get back we'll talk some more. In the meantime, if I need to reach you, I certainly know where to find you."

So Harry went to the Burrow, though he felt uneasy about it. Fortunately, Charlie and his family had arrived in England before the emergency measures went into effect, though he was a bit concerned about how they were going to return to Romania.

"It's not as if you _can't_ leave," Harry explained to Charlie while Ginny cooed over baby Stefan and the children exchanged pleasantries with their Romanian cousins who spoke with thick, eastern European accents, though all had the trademark Weasley hair. "There may be a certain amount of red tape to cut through, but it's really more of an inconvenience than anything."

"What's going on, Harry?" asked Charlie. "Dad wouldn't tell me anything. He says it's very hush-hush, but I gather Percy knows something about it and Hermione too, for that matter."

"I can't really say anything either," said Harry, who agreed with the Minister that relaying too much information would only create a panic. "Suffice it to say we're on top of the situation and hope to have it resolved soon. So tell me, Charlie, how's the dragon business?" And Charlie launched into a detailed account of his latest encounter with an especially vicious Hungarian Horntail, and soon the other matter appeared to be forgotten.

The family began to arrive, first in trickles and then in floods. Ron and Hermione turned up just before noon, followed by Bill and Fleur, Percy and Penelope, and finally George and Katie, each with their respective broods in tow. The arrival of Neville and Hannah, laden with barrels, crates and casks, inspired enthusiastic applause, while Arthur, who had invited several friends from the office, mostly bachelors without families of their own, went to greet them when they Apparated at the end of the lane. Sadly, Luna Lovegood, who had become a famous naturalist, was unable to join them as she was in hot pursuit of the elusive Knarladillo, a rare cross between a Knarl and an armadillo which had been spotted somewhere in North America. Luna had written to announce that she'd become engaged to Rolf Scamander, grandson of Newt Scamander who wrote _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._ Her letter had gone on to say that they were all invited to the wedding the following spring. It would take place at Stonehenge on Beltane Eve, and promised to be both unusual and highly entertaining.

One of the advantages of a family gathering at the Burrow was that all Weasley children looked a little bit alike, and if anyone was targeting Harry and Ginny's kids, they probably would have had difficulty picking them out of the crowd. Even Albus, who looked remarkably like Harry, had a scattering of freckles that helped him blend in with his cousins, and once they all began to mill around together it was difficult for even their own parents to distinguish them. Victoire and Teddy immediately disappeared together (everyone pretended not to notice), but her brothers, Romy and Remy, grabbed an armful of broomsticks and took off for the paddock near the orchard. They were quickly joined by George's sons, Fred, Gideon and Fabian, with James and Albus right behind them. Hugo tried to join in too, but was told that he was too little and returned to his mother in a right old funk. Hermione managed to distract him by starting up a game of Exploding Snap between Hugo, Lily, Artie, Adam, Molly and Magda, though Charlie's two sets of twins needed to have the rules explained as they apparently didn't have the game in Romania.

Percy and Penelope's children, Prewett, Prudence, Prescott and Priscilla ("Try calling _that_ lot in for tea without spitting all over yourself," Ron said), had brought several wizard's chess sets. Rose challenged each of them in turn, and beat them all so soundly that her father was hard pressed not to gloat. "The Four P's in a Pod," as George called them, decided to change into swim gear and take a dip in the frog pond where their dignity was forgotten amid splashing and screaming when Romy, Remy, Fred, Gideon, Fabian, James and Albus dove in to cool off after their Quidditch match. They were soon joined by Rose, Hugo, Lily, and the Romanian twins, while baby Stefan and little Alice Longbottom stirred up a patch of dirt with a pair of sticks. Arthur was in the chicken coop with his Ministry friends, showing off his latest Muggle contraptions ("It's called a clackulator. See? It adds and subtracts and things!") Neville acted as barman and dispensed drinks while Hannah struck up a conversation with Charlie's wife, Olga, who, as it turned out, was also in the early stages of pregnancy.

"_Again_?" said Ron, pointing at the eight month old baby who was sucking on his dirt-encrusted stick while Olga looked on indulgently. "You just _had_ one!"

"Not all of us are as backward as you, Ron," Charlie said with a fond look at Olga, a pretty, albeit big-boned girl, with what Molly called 'good birthing hips.' "You've only got two kids. That's barely a family for a Weasley."

"Even so, Charlie," said Bill, shaking his head mournfully at his younger brother. "You keep going at this rate and you'll catch up with Mum and Dad. Another set of twins and you'll be there."

"That's one of the reasons our family has always been considered so daft," observed George. "Wizards just don't have large families. Except for Mum and Dad, of course, who apparently couldn't stay off each other." He gagged, contemplating it.

"No self control," said Ron, who was one of the most impulsive people Harry knew. "It's embarrassing, really."

"Don't listen to them, Charlie," said Neville, coming over to replace Charlie's empty tankard. "I think it's brilliant. Congratulations!"

"Thanks, Neville," said Charlie, clanking tankards with him. "The same to you!"

As soon as Neville had gone, George said, "Charlie, you obviously need something to fill your time. Ever think about getting a second job?"

"Or a hobby?" suggested Harry.

"I think he's already got one," Ron snickered.

"Shut it, you," Charlie said. "You might be taller than me, but I can still pound you to a pulp."

"I'd like to see you try!" retorted Ron, who was well into his cups and had clearly reached the belligerent stage.

"Boys, boys!" said Molly, coming out of the house and recognizing the danger signs. "Why don't you all stop drinking so much and help set up the tables?"

Percy, who was annoying Hagrid by offering suggestions on the proper way to season roasted meat, was put to work alongside his brothers. Teddy and Victoire finally wandered in from wherever they'd disappeared to and, after being stopped by Ginny to pull leaves and twigs out of Victoire's hair before her parents spotted her, they were put to work as well. Soon several long tables were standing end to end in the garden and chairs arranged around them. Someone conjured tablecloths out of thin air, and the children, still dripping from the frog pond, began laying plates, glasses, and silverware. The house-elves paraded out of the kitchen with steaming platters, chilled bowls, and smoking tureens and soon the tables were groaning with enough food to feed an army of starving giants.

With a great deal of scraping and only a little shoving, everyone took their places, with Arthur and Molly at either end of the long tables. Arthur looked down the long rows of grandchildren, of his children and their spouses, and raised his glass for the first of many toasts.

"To family," he said. "May we always stay together!"

"To family!" everyone said before taking a drink.

Molly was next. Smiling at Andromeda, to whom she had grown very close after the Battle of Hogwarts when both had lost a beloved child, she raised her glass and said, "To good friends. Whatever would we do without them?"

"Good friends!" everyone repeated as somebody pounded Neville on the back and several people patted Hagrid who was wiping his eyes on one of his tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs.

Then it was George's turn. He did the same thing every year and it never failed to get everyone crying into their beer. His eyes glistened, and in a voice that was half laughter, half choky whisper, he gazed upward and paraphrased the words Fred once shouted at Peeves when the twins escaped from Dolores Umbridge at Hogwarts: "Give 'em hell for us, Fred!"

There was a shivering silence, then a snuffle, then a sob. Then everyone stood, even the children who had never known their uncle but had heard so many stories about him that he seemed as real as any of the living people around the table. Raising their glasses with George, they all echoed, "To Fred!"

Everyone sat back down and tucked in at once. As the food went round the table, there were more toasts and a lot more drinking, though Harry switched to pumpkin juice halfway through the meal. He wanted to keep a clear head, just in case, though everything had been blissfully uneventful so far. He'd checked with his Aurors periodically throughout the afternoon, but there had been no sign of anything out of the ordinary, either sinister or otherwise. Even the ominous weather forecast appeared to have been mistaken, for there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the sun beat down so brightly that Ginny claimed she could feel freckles popping out on her exposed arms and legs. She was wearing a sleeveless top and shorts that showed off her still shapely limbs, and Harry thought, not for the first time, how lucky he was, not only to be married to a woman like Ginny, but to be part of this boisterous, loving family. They had always been his favorite family in the world, but now he was linked to them by a blood tie through his children. Not that they had ever made him feel like an outsider, but it was nice to know that as long as James, Albus, or Lily lived, or any of their children, or their children's children, then Harry was a Weasley too. They were as much a part of him as the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

The evening came on with a star-studded sky and the smells of grass and honeysuckle filling the air. After a brief but spectacular fireworks display put on by George with Ron's assistance, several of the smaller children went indoors with their mothers to join Molly, who held court over a teapot in the sitting room. Teddy and Victoire wandered off again, and the older children all grabbed brooms for a nighttime fly round the paddock. James and Albus, however, were spotted by Ginny, sneaking out of the kitchen with a pair of glass jars, and she knew immediately what they were about.

"You are _not _going out to the orchard to catch fireflies!" she said, for the fireflies around the Burrow had the ability to actually start fires, and the last time the boys caught some they'd almost burned down the broom shed.

"But, Mum!" James began.

"You heard your mother!" said Harry sternly. "I don't want you going that far anyway. Stay within the paddock where everyone can see you."

The boys went off to join their cousins and Ginny took Lily inside. Hagrid was sitting under a tree, singing "Odo the Hero" with Arthur's office friends. Arthur joined in too, though for some reason he was singing it to the tune of "Rule Britannia." Neville was curled up on a patch of grass nearby, his head pillowed on his arms, snoring loudly.

Ron stared at Neville in amazement. "You'd think, living over a pub, he'd have learned to hold his drink by now," he said as Harry joined the little group sitting on kitchen chairs in the garden

"Never mind that," said George. "Now that you're here, Harry, you can help. I have a new product that I'd like to test market. You're to be my guinea pigs."

"What sort of product?" asked Harry suspiciously.

"Nothing dangerous or bad," George assured him. "It's just a simple parlor game. You'll love it." He pulled something out of his pocket. It was palm-sized, with black and yellow stripes, and it was buzzing.

Charlie leapt up from his chair and started backing away. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a Bee," said George. "Oh, not a _real_ bee. Charlie! Get a grip!"

"Charlie's terrified of bees," Ron explained to Harry. "All flying insects really. Can't even stand dragonflies. And he works with real dragons!"

"Getting back to the subject at hand," George said. "The game's called '_Bee-_ware.' It's a Bee. Get it?"

"I'm holding my sides," Bill said dryly.

"The way it works is this," George explained. "I let the Bee go and it flies round until it selects someone. Whichever one it selects has to answer a question, and you have to answer truthfully, because it'll know if you're lying."

"How will it know?" asked Harry.

"It's a spell," George said. "It knows whether or not you're telling the truth."

"So it's like a lie detector test?" Harry said.

"A what?" said Bill, Charlie, Percy, George and Ron together.

"It's a Muggle thing," Harry said. "Never mind."

"Anyway," said George. "If the Bee selects you, you can choose either to answer a question or take the challenge. If you answer untruthfully, you get a double challenge."

"Who asks the question?" asked Charlie, who was still keeping his distance.

"Whoever's turn it is," George replied. "I'll take the first turn so I can show you how it works." Holding the Bee in his open palm, he said, "Bee-Ware!"

The Bee flew round in a circle and finally stopped in front of Percy where it hovered, waiting. Percy stared at it for a minute, looking cross-eyed, before saying, "Now what?"

"Now you decide whether to answer a question or accept the Bee's challenge," said George.

"_You're _asking the question?" Percy said. "You, personally?" George nodded. Percy looked at the Bee, then at George, then at the Bee again, and said, "Challenge."

"Good man!" said George. "Give us the challenge, Bee."

The Bee spat out a strip of parchment which George grabbed and read aloud: "Strip down to your pants and run round the house three times."

"You're joking!" Percy said.

"The Bee never jokes, Perce," said George, as the buzzing grew louder. "You chose the challenge, so either do it or accept the consequences."

"What are the consequences?" Percy asked, as the Bee swarmed threateningly round his head.

"You don't want to know," George said ominously.

Percy tried swatting at the Bee, but this only seemed to anger it. Finally accepting his fate, he took a long swig of ale and whipped off his robes. Everyone stared, then started to laugh.

"Percy," Bill groaned. "Pin-striped _boxers_?"

"Three times round the house?" said Percy, setting off in that direction. He'd only run a few steps, however, when he stopped and looked around. "Just out of curiosity, what would you have asked me?"

George paused for the space of a heartbeat before saying, "Did Mum actually give birth to you or did she pluck you out of a Savile Row tailor's arse?"

"Glad I took the challenge then," said Percy, while Bill howled, Charlie slapped his thigh, Ron fell off his chair, and Harry's glasses fogged up, they were all laughing so hard.

Penelope came out of the house just as Percy jogged past. "Percy!" she cried. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Sorry, Penny, got to run!" said Percy and he disappeared round the corner.

The laughter had died down by the time Percy completed his rounds. Everyone patted him on the back for being such a good sport. "Now I get to ask the question, right?" he said, once he'd pulled his robes back on.

Even as he uttered the words, the Bee settled on the palm of his hand. Percy said, "Bee-ware!" and the Bee flew off to circle the group again. Charlie kept his head down, scowling ferociously as though daring it to come closer. Bill and Ron looked a little nervous too, but the Bee flew right past them and stopped in front of Harry.

"So what'll it be, Harry? Or perhaps I should say, 'What'll it _bee_?'" said Percy with a pompous little titter.

Harry, who had no desire to run anywhere in his boxers, said, "Question."

Smiling broadly, Percy drew himself up to his full height and asked, "Did you shag our little sister before you got married or did you wait till after the wedding?"

The Brothers Weasley, all looking mightily impressed, stared at Percy in stunned surprise. George wiped an imaginary tear from his eye and said, "I think - yes, I really do think - this is the proudest moment of my life!"

"Shut up," said Percy. "Go on, Harry. Answer the question."

Everyone looked at Harry whose first instinct was to say, "None of your bloody business!" But even as he thought this, the Bee buzzed louder. His next thought was to remind everyone that he and Ginny had been engaged for three long years, but as Harry didn't particularly fancy being disemboweled by his wife's brothers, this seemed a poor choice too. Finally a third option occurred to him and it was the best one yet, so he pulled out his wand and calmly blasted the Bee into rubble.

"Hey!" George said.

"Sorry," said Harry, as his brothers-in-law shot him looks of immense gratitude. "Auror's instinct."

"Oh, well," said George. "I have another prototype back at the shop." He gazed sadly at the smoking remnants of his invention which were curling into ash on the ground. "Still. . ."

Harry and Ron wandered over to Mr. Weasley who was propped against the broom shed with an empty tankard in his lap and a look of dreamy unconcern on his face.

"Hello, boys," said Arthur with a lopsided grin. "Pull up a patch of grass, why don't you?"

They both sat down beside him. "Great party, Dad," said Ron. "One of the best."

"It _has_ been a lovely day, hasn't it?" Arthur agreed. "How have you both been? Haven't had a chance to talk with you in ages, Harry."

"Things have been a bit hectic," Harry said. "Today was a nice break, though."

"Ah, yes," said Arthur. "Such dreadful goings on at the Ministry. I had a long talk with Kingsley yesterday. He decided to brief me on the situation as he seemed to think it might affect my department." Arthur headed up the Muggle Liaison office, a department formed immediately after the war to develop better understanding of Muggles within the wizarding community. Arthur was in his element in such an environment, though even some of the Muggles with whom he liaised had difficulty understanding his fascination with plugs.

"Shocking news about young Scrimgeour," Arthur went on. "Rufus must be spinning in his grave. Hard to believe a boy from such a good family could have turned out that way."

"Kingsley said something to me about Rufus Scrimgeour's widow," Harry said. "Rowan's mother, I presume. He said she was very bitter after the Death Eaters killed her husband."

"Well, yes and no," said Arthur. "She was very grieved over Rufus's death, of course, but that's only part of it. Vivienne remarried after the war and her new husband didn't care much for Rowan. The marriage broke up eventually, but by that time the damage was done. It caused a tremendous amount of bitterness on all sides, especially as Vivienne's second husband got on very well with young Robert. He never could seem to stomach Rowan, though. Looked too much like Rufus, I suppose, whereas the younger son looked more like his mother."

Harry frowned. "I never knew the Scrimgeours had another son."

"And I never heard of a Robert Scrimgeour," Ron said, also frowning.

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" said Arthur. "Vivienne's second husband adopted him. His surname is Wilkins, or something like that. So it'd be Robert Wilkins."

Harry froze as shock waves rolled over him. "Harry?" said Ron. "Are you all right?"

"You . . . you . . ." Harry stammered. "Arthur, are you sure . . . are you sure it wasn't Wilkinson?"

"Wilkinson!" said Arthur. "That's it. Robert Wilkinson. Well done, Harry!"

Several things happened simultaneously. Harry sprang to his feet as a flash of lightning rent the sky, followed by a clap of thunder that made several people start up in surprise. Neville woke in mid-snore, groping for his wand as he said, "Whazzit?" Harry ran for the house, nearly colliding with several of the women who had just come out to call the children indoors before the storm hit.

Ginny was among them. Harry grabbed her by the shoulders. "Where are the children?"

"What?" said Ginny, blinking in surprise. "Lily's asleep in the sitting room."

"The boys? Where are the boys?"

"They were outside with all the others," Ginny said. "Oh, no. They _didn't _go to the orchard after I specifically told them not to, did they?"

But Harry was already running toward the paddock. He met Romy, Remy and Fred coming from the opposite direction, all carrying brooms slung over their shoulders. "Where are James and Albus?" Harry demanded.

"We were just coming to tell you," said Romy. "We saw them heading off toward Stoatshead Hill with that blonde Auror."

"Fred told us it was probably all right," Remy said uncertainly. "But we thought, with the thunderstorm and all. . ."

"It was that bloke who came with you to the joke shop that day," Fred explained. "You know, the one who's a friend of Teddy's?"

"God," Harry whispered, as an overwhelming weakness washed over him. "Oh, God!"

"Harry, what is it?" asked Ron, who had followed his erratic progress from house to paddock. "What's going on?"

"Wilkinson," Harry gasped, trying without success to catch his breath. "That's Rob Wilkinson. Scrimgeour's brother!"

"Merlin's beard," Ron muttered. "Bloody hell, Harry!"

"Er, Uncle Harry?" said Remy. "You too, Uncle Ron. There's just one more thing."

"Yeah," Romy said. "Rose saw them. She knew they weren't supposed to leave the paddock, so she. . ."

"What are you saying?" Ron demanded, looking even paler by moonlight. Even his vivid Weasley hair seemed washed out.

"She went after them," Fred told him. "And when she caught up with them, well, they took her along too."

----------

_**A/N:**__ My extended family is not unlike the Weasleys and though none of us has the ability to conjure tablecloths out of thin air, we certainly create our own brand of magic when we get together. It's kind of a dirty, rotten trick to end the chapter this way (I keep TELLING you I'm evil!) but I promise to get the next one out soon. Meanwhile, a review to let me know that you don't hate me too much (or even to let me know how much you really do hate me) would be appreciated! _


	15. Chapter 15

**THE LETTER**

_**A/N**__: I hadn't intended to post this chapter quite so soon as I wanted to make a little more headway on Chapter 16 first, just to make sure I'd closed all the loopholes. However, I seem to have created such a maelstrom with the cliffhanger at the end of the last chapter that I figured I'd better get something posted before a few of my loyal readers burst into flames. So here it is, but don't be surprised if I ask you to go back and re-read this chapter at a later date if it turns out that I need to make a couple of corrections. Cheers!_

**Chapter Fifteen**

Ron ran up the hill, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Rose! Rosie!"

"Ron, don't be an idiot!" Harry yelled after him, but another clap of thunder drowned out his voice. He whipped around to face Romy, Remy, and Fred, who stood as though petrified, looking terrified.

"Brooms!" he yelled, past caring how frightened the boys were or how much worse he was scaring them. "Give me your brooms!"

All three thrust their brooms at him. He took the nearest two, mounted one, and kicked off from the ground with the other tucked under his arm.

Harry reached Ron and shouted "Get on!" as he tossed the other broom to him, then they were both soaring toward Stoatshead Hill. A fierce wind had whipped out of nowhere and another explosion of thunder brought a torrential downpour. No gentle, summer shower this, but a powerful, angry storm that flung them about on their brooms like helpless toys. The clouds seemed to open up and vomit rain in violent swells that quickly drenched both of them to the skin. Harry thought of Olive Ollivander saying that James's wand offered protection against powerful storms. Did he even have his wand with him? And what possible good would it do if he did? James was only eleven years old. He didn't know enough magic to protect himself, let alone his younger brother or his cousin.

_My boys, my boys_, Harry thought in agony as they circled around and around through the wind and rain. Why had he let them out of his sight? How could he have failed to protect them? Wasn't that what fathers were supposed to do, protect their children? And – oh, God – not Rose too! Her father's pride, her mother's joy, the light of their lives. _Oh, let them be safe_, Harry pleaded with some unknowable force. _Please let them all be safe! _But somewhere in all the madness, the calm, rational part of his brain began to reassert itself. His years of training and experience finally kicked in, and when he saw Ron turn toward the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, Harry grabbed hold of the end of his broom to stop him.

"Let go!" Ron shouted, once he realized what had happened to arrest his progress. "Let me go, damn you!"

"Ron, the village is full of Muggles. You'll be seen!"

"I don't care! That's my daughter out there! I have to find her!"

Harry seized a fistful of Ron's robes and dragged him close enough to be heard over the storm. "Ron, we have to go back! We have to get the others involved in the search. The kids could be miles away. We have no idea where they may have been taken, and we can't see a damned thing in all of this anyway. Ron, listen to me!" Harry bellowed as Ron continued to struggle. "We need help! We can't do this on our own!"

Something in Harry's voice, or perhaps the blind panic he saw reflected there, seemed to get through to Ron. Harry released him, and together they flew back to the Burrow, dismounting just outside the back door where they were immediately besieged by the entire family.

"Harry, what in the name of Merlin is going on?" demanded Bill, standing on the back steps with Charlie, Percy, and George, who were all nearly as soaked as Harry and Ron. "The boys said something about James, Al and Rose wandering off with one of the Aurors . . ."

"Let's go inside and I'll explain everything," Harry said.

Ron slumped into a chair at the kitchen table where he sat, dripping. People were firing questions at him, but he seemed not to hear them. Like Harry, he was wet through, his fiery hair plastered to his skull. It looked as though a volcano had erupted on top of him, leaving trails of lava down the sides of his head. Molly, who had appeared with an armload of towels, tried to dry Ron's hair, but he brushed her aside as if she was a gnat, and she desisted.

The crowd parted to reveal Ginny and Hermione standing close together. They were clutching each other's hands so tightly they both appeared in imminent danger of cutting off their circulation. It hurt Harry's eyes to see the looks on their faces, but it was to them that he addressed himself, though everyone else stilled to listen. Briefly, he described what had happened. The only sound that could be heard was a faint whimper from Hermione. Ginny stared at Harry without blinking as he concluded his explanation.

"So you think he was taking them to . . . to him?" Ginny said in a mere echo of her normal voice.

Harry longed to go to her, but for some reason he couldn't make himself move. Everyone seemed to be keeping their distance, as if Ginny and Hermione were contagious. Though perhaps it was just a fear of shattering something being held together by the thinnest of sheer, raw nerves and pain that went fathoms deep. For mothers of missing children, pain could not get much deeper.

"Why, though?" said Ron, before Harry could respond to Ginny's question. "Why would he take them? With McLaggen it was supposedly all about vengeance, but why would Scrimgeour . . .?"

"I don't know." Harry's head was spinning. There was so much he needed to think about and he didn't know where to begin.

"He won't hurt them," said Hermione, speaking up at last. "He wants something. He's using them for leverage. They'd be no good to him if . . ." She broke off, apparently unable to finish whatever she'd been about to say.

"What does he want?" Ron asked. "Is it ransom? Because if it's gold he's after, I'll give anything. . ."

"Not gold," said Harry, as inspiration struck. "He needs to get out of the country. We've blocked his escape route, so he's holding the kids to force me to arrange to let him go. He'll contact me, unless I miss my guess."

"He's mad," Hermione said. "He has to be, to think the Ministry would allow him to just walk away after . . . I mean, it isn't possible, is it? Under the circumstances?"

"I don't know," Harry said again. "We may be able to work out some sort of arrangement with Kingsley to get the children back and then. . ."

"And then what?" Ron said fiercely. "Even if his demands are met, do you honestly believe he'll just let them go? Unharmed?"

The house had gone quiet. Olga and Hannah had taken the younger children upstairs while the older kids had been herded into the sitting room. Harry knew they were all in there, in sleeping bags and camp beds, wide-awake and listening. The adults either stood in the kitchen or sat on the stairs, listening every bit as intently. Hagrid, who was far too big to fit into the already overcrowded kitchen, peered through the back door, holding his huge pink umbrella over his head for protection from the rain, waiting like all the others for Harry to tell him what to do. If only he _knew_ what to do! If only they would all leave him alone so he could think.

It was Ginny who finally broke the silence. "We have to find them," she said simply. "We have to figure out where they are before he makes any demands."

"Of course we do," said Harry, exasperated. "The problem is, we have no idea where he's taken them."

"He's an Auror," Ginny said, locking her eyes with his. "He thinks like an Auror. His mind works the way an Auror's mind works. Think, Harry! Where would he take them?"

Harry was a little offended by the comparison she was drawing, but at the same time he recognized an inherent wisdom. His defeat of Voldemort had been due in no small measure to an ability to share the Dark Lord's thoughts. After intimate knowledge of a mind like that, surely crawling inside Scrimgeour's head would be much less challenging. What would Scrimgeour be thinking right now, and even more importantly, what was he feeling? Harry pondered what he knew about Scrimgeour, along with everything he knew about the case, and combined this with his experience as an Auror. Everything swirled together in a many-colored collage until at last something substantial formed upon which he could gain a solid foothold. Scrimgeour was frightened. He was feeling trapped. People tended to follow predictable patterns, especially when their survival was at stake, and being boxed into a corner wasn't conducive to exploring new vistas. Wherever Scrimgeour had gone, it would be someplace he had gone before. He hadn't left the country, he was someplace nearby, and if he was hiding something, especially if it was something upon which his very existence depended, he wasn't likely to let it out of his sight.

"Arthur," Harry said slowly. "How do you know about the Wilkinsons?"

Arthur blinked, confused. "You seemed to know a lot about them," Harry explained. "More than Kingsley knew anyway. Did you know the family?"

"Oh!" said Arthur. "Why, yes. They lived right here in the village for a little while. Didn't they, Molly?"

"It was after all you children moved away," Molly said. "They kept pretty much to themselves, and were only here a short time in any case, but they seemed a lovely couple. Shame about the way things worked out."

Hermione gasped as comprehension dawned. "Oh, my goodness! Attor!"

Nearly everyone was bewildered, but looks passed between those few who knew that Claude Attor's body had been found in a well near Ottery St. Catchpole. Harry was also thinking of McLaggen, who had been captured in a wooded area not far from here. And Wilkinson knew the area because he had lived here as a boy.

"Percy," said Harry, suddenly decisive. "I need to get a message to the Minister."

"I can do that," said Percy. "What do you want me to tell him?"

"Tell Kingsley what happened," Harry said. "I'll also have a written message for you to deliver. First, though, is there a map that shows all the wooded areas in the vicinity?"

"I don't know of a map that shows anything like that," said Bill. "But Charlie and I combed every inch of these woods when we were kids. We could probably draw something fairly accurate from memory, couldn't we, Charlie?"

Charlie nodded. "Definitely. I could do it blindfolded."

Teddy stepped in front of Harry. "Let me do something," he said in a voice of near desperation. "Give me something to do, Harry. Please!"

Ted appeared to be avoiding Victoire. She gazed at him imploringly, but he would not look her way, and Harry thought he understood why. All three Potter children had been raised to think of Teddy as family. They worshipped him, and he had always teased, petted, and adored them. They were like younger siblings to him, and two of them had been abducted while he was . . . well, never mind what he'd been doing, but he blamed himself for not being there to prevent it. But Harry didn't have time to deal with anyone's guilt, neither Teddy's nor his own. At the moment, self-reproach was an indulgence nobody could afford.

"Round up the other Aurors," said Harry. "Bring them all to me. Tell them nothing. Just bring them here." And Ted raced out into the storm without a backward glance.

"What can I do, Harry?" George asked.

Harry looked at George. "You said you had another prototype back at the shop."

"Of what?"

"The Bee. Can you get it for me?"

"Of course," said George, clearly puzzled. "But . . . why?"

"Because two of my Aurors are traitors," Harry said grimly. "And when I talk to the others, I'd like to know whether or not I can trust them."

---------------

The storm raged through the night. There was nothing anyone could do out of doors while darkness prevailed, but inside the house activity continued unabated. Molly and Andromeda brewed endless cups of tea while Penelope and Olga organized leftovers from the gargantuan meal earlier that day. Fleur and Katie took charge of seeing off non-family guests, except for Hagrid who stood guard outside, patrolling the garden and paddock with his pink umbrella, seemingly unaffected by the wind and rain. The fierce gusts could not buffet his massive form and his size alone would deter the taking of any more hostages. Neville offered to stay as well, but Harry sent him home with his wife and baby daughter to whom he owed a much greater obligation than his friends.

A command post was set up in the garage that once housed the flying Ford Anglia. After the bits of Muggle machinery Arthur collected had been shoved into corners, someone set up a table and maps were spread across it. When George returned, the remaining Aurors whom Ted had collected from various posts around the Burrow were questioned. Most were sent out to join Hagrid on guard duty, but to Harry's dismay, the Bee identified a weedy looking youth called Barnabus Finkley as a potential liar.

"You two-faced bastard!" Ron roared, and would have launched himself at the terrified Auror had Bill, Charlie and George not managed to subdue him. "Where are my daughter and nephews? Where have they taken them? Tell us, damn you, or I'll. . ."

"I-I-I don't . . ." Finkley stammered while rubbing his thigh, for the Bee had introduced a tiny, needle sharp stinger when he claimed that he never carried out any secret orders for Scrimgeour. "I did. . . I mean, I didn't . . . I mean, I was only a messenger! All I did was deliver messages!"

"Explain," Harry said, his wand pointed directly between the young Auror's eyes.

"I-I-I was following orders!" Finkley stuttered. "He. . .he was in charge of the investigation, wasn't he?"

"And you didn't find it at all strange that he told you not to tell anyone what you were doing?"

"It's like I said, he was in charge and . . . Oh, bloody hell! Get that thing away from me, will you?"

"You were part of the team that went to the Leaky Cauldron to arrest Scrimgeour," Harry reminded him. "Why didn't you come forward then?"

Finkley hung his head and refused to answer. The Bee whipped around again and Finkley said, "Ow!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby," George chided him. "It's just a little pin-prick!"

"You're all mental!" Finkley exclaimed.

"That's a given," George replied. "Answer the bloody question, why don't you?"

"I was scared, okay?" said Finkley, rubbing his bicep where the latest jab had been administered. "That's why I lied when you asked me about Scrimgeour. I was afraid I'd end up being accused of collaborating with him. Pretty much the way I am right now, in fact." He looked up resentfully. "I'll admit that I may have used poor judgment, but . . . I mean, come on! His dad was Minister for Magic. Who was I to question a man like that?"

"Who else was involved?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Finkley said. "As far as I know, no one."

"He's lying!" Ron spat. The Bee, however, thought otherwise.

"What about Wilkinson?" asked Harry.

"What about him?" Finkley replied.

"You never had any dealings with Wilkinson during all this?" Harry asked.

"No. Should I have?"

The Bee remained stationary and Harry finally lowered his wand. Finkley had apparently been duped into participating in Scrimgeour's scheme. He'd been a coward and certainly a fool, but foolhardiness wasn't against the law. If it was, Harry thought he might have to arrest himself. How could such things have occurred right under his nose? Had Scrimgeour really been that clever, or had he himself been complacent? But the entire wizarding community had grown complacent in the peace that followed Voldemort's defeat. So eager was everyone to be done with strife and suspicion that many rules and regulations had been relaxed. The Ministry still conducted background checks on prospective Aurors, but the emphasis was on criminal records and ensuring that there was no history of associations with Dark Wizards. Harry suddenly recalled, with a stinging sense of irony, Sirius telling him that the world wasn't divided into Death Eaters and other people. It seemed he had been slow to learn this lesson, but experience was teaching him that evil didn't always lurk behind a mask, and that between black and white there were many shades of gray. As long as there was power there would be those who would abuse it. As long as there was wealth there would be those for whom a fair share would never be enough. Harry knew that he could not let down his guard because there would always be someone ready to challenge him. There could not be peace as long as anyone desired war.

Harry regarded Finkley. "Where did you deliver the messages?"

"Different places," Finkley replied. "A couple of shops in Knockturn Alley. He sent me out this way a few times, as a matter of fact."

"We have a map right over here," Harry said. "Show me."

Harry led the frightened young Auror to the table where Bill and Charlie's hand-drawn map was laid out. Finkley studied it for a moment, then pointed to a dense, forested area east of the Burrow. Harry ordered him to report to Hagrid for guard duty and turned back to the map, along with Bill, Charlie, George, and Ron.

"There's a cave just there," said Bill, pointing to a spot in the area Finkley had indicated. "One of our favorite hideaways, in fact. Remember, Charlie?"

"Oh, yeah," Charlie said with a reminiscent smile. "We used to take birds . . ."

He broke off abruptly as Molly came in with a tea tray. "Sorry to interrupt. What was it you were saying about birds, dear?"

Charlie looked flustered. "We, uh, used to _watch_ birds, Mum. Bill and me. Did a lot of bird-watching when we were kids. Studied them quite intently for awhile and, er. . ."

Charlie seemed to realize he was babbling and finally clammed up, but Molly merely glanced between her two eldest sons with bright interest. "I always thought it was strictly dragons with you, Charlie," she said. "And Bill, I never knew you were interested in ornithology."

"Fascinated by it, Mum," George informed her. "If memory serves, Bill was once particularly intrigued by a large breasted. . ."

"Shut up," Bill ordered, returning to the map. "Actually, Harry, this cave is the perfect place if someone wanted to remain out of sight. Lots of trees and brush around it. If you didn't know it was there, you could spend years trying to find it."

The question was, had either Wilkinson or Scrimgeour ever found it? Harry stared at the map for several minutes. A plan was forming in his mind. It was risky, especially if his estimates were off by even the smallest amount, but doing nothing was even riskier. A lot depended on when Scrimgeour contacted them and what his specific demands might be, but it was no longer a question of "if" in Harry's mind. Hermione was right. Scrimgeour was using the children for leverage. He wouldn't harm them so long as they had the potential to bring him what he wanted, but once he had it, their fate was less certain. They had to find out where James, Albus, and Rose were being held, which meant getting inside Scrimgeour's head and walking around for awhile. Harry's gut was telling him that he was on the right track, but even if his hunch was correct, it would require the most careful strategic planning to make everything work. There was only one person he knew who was capable of that kind of strategy.

"Ron," Harry said. "How would you like to play a little chess?"

---------------

Ginny and Hermione entered the garage just before dawn. Rain was still pattering on the roof, but the wind had died down and the sound of thunder was now only a distant rumble. Bill, Charlie, and George had gone into the house to try to get a few hours sleep. Percy had returned with a note from the Minister. Harry shared it with Ron, who was arranging chess pieces on the map Bill and Charlie had created and prodding them into place with his wand. Ted had drifted in and out, looking desolate, but finally returned to the house where he dozed, sitting upright in a kitchen chair. Only Harry and Ron remained in the garage when Hermione and Ginny came in.

"What is he doing?" Hermione asked, for Ron was so absorbed that he didn't even look up.

"Strategizing," said Harry. He put his arms around Ginny. "How are you holding up?"

Ginny shrugged. "I've been better."

"How are you doing, Hermione?"

"Oh," said Hermione. "You know."

Despite their half-hearted replies, both appeared to be in surprisingly good shape. Harry was actually quite impressed. He was a quivering mass inside, yet these two, with so much at stake, seemed to be holding up much better than either himself or Ron. Maybe women were stronger than men. In some ways at least.

"So, Harry, is there a plan yet?" Hermione asked.

"Sort of," Harry replied. "A lot depends on what we hear from Scrimgeour."

"Why don't you tell us what you have planned so far," Ginny suggested.

"It doesn't have to be specific," Hermione added. "Just give us a general idea about what we're all going to do."

Ron looked up at that. "_We_ aren't doing anything! _You're _staying here."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Ron, how long have we been married?"

Ron thought for a minute. "Twelve years?"

"Thirteen!" Hermione corrected, scowling. "And how long were we together before that?"

"Um. . . Are you talking about when we were actually _together,_ or . . ."

"Never mind," Hermione sighed. "I think we can both agree it's been a very long time. Now, I want you to think back, Ron: when was the last time you got away with telling me what I could or could not do?"

"This is different," Ron said. "I mean it, Hermione. I'm putting my foot down this time!"

"You'd have to take it out of your mouth first," Hermione retorted. "Ginny, you're not letting them get away with this, are you?"

"Now look," Harry began, "I really don't think. . ."

"Forget it, Harry!" Ginny said, spinning on him in a fury. "You're not doing this to me again. Not this time! These are my children and if you think for one minute . . ."

"Neither of you is going," Ron said adamantly. "We'll be out in the woods, climbing over rocks, mucking about in caves. . ."

"Oh, and that would be a brand new experience for me, wouldn't it?" Hermione said tartly.

"Hermione, that was years ago," Ron pointed out. "You're a mother now. We've got Hugo to think of . . ."

"That's _right_, Ron!" Hermione screamed at him. "I'm a _mother_ now! And that's my baby girl out there!"

Ron dropped the rook he was holding and put his arms around her, murmuring into her hair, "Hermione, sweetheart. Don't, baby. You're breaking my heart."

"Do you know," Hermione sobbed into his chest, "this is the first time since she was born that I don't know where she is? I haven't always been with her. I've worked ever since she was a baby. But no matter where I've been, I've always known exactly where she was. And tonight, for the first time in her life, I don't know where my daughter is. Do you have any idea what that feels like? Do you have any idea how lost I feel?"

Ron was crying now too and Harry felt himself dangerously close. Ginny stirred in his arms and when Harry looked down, he saw silent tears streaming down her face. Then Hermione rushed over to Ginny and the two women clung together, lost in their mutual grief. Harry wrapped his arms around both of them, and suddenly Ron was there as well, folding his long arms around all three. They stood that way for several minutes, sharing their sorrow and imbuing one another with as much strength as each of them had to give. And when they broke apart, they felt bolstered somehow, a little better able to cope with what lay ahead. Whatever that might be.

_**A/N:**__ This is a largely transitional chapter that sets up some of the final resolutions. I will try to get one more chapter posted before the Thanksgiving holiday (Nov. 22, for all you non-Yanks) but family gatherings are planned at my house and so I may not get to anything more until the following week. There will be at least two more chapters after this one, plus an Epilogue, but I hope to have the entire series completed by the end of the month. Thanks so much for reading and please give me something to be thankful for this Thanksgiving by leaving a review!_


	16. Chapter 16

**THE LETTER**

_**A/N:**__ My original intent was to write two more chapters, plus an Epilogue, but this section ended up being so long that I decided to split it into two. The good news is that I'm nearly finished with Chapter 17, which should arrive hard on the heels of this one. Thanks for sticking with the story and stay tuned for Chapter 17!_

**Chapter Sixteen**

The owl arrived around mid-morning. Harry detached the note tied to its leg and read it at once.

"No way!" he exclaimed, passing the message to Ron, who had just come out of the garage where he'd been explaining the plan to the others. "The plan's no good. We'll have to start over."

Everyone crowded around Ron and read over his shoulder:

_Potter – We have your sons and the Mudblood's daughter. All are safe and none will be harmed, provided you cooperate. There will be a portkey at the top of Stoatshead Hill at 8 p.m. tonight. Both you and your wife are to take it. Both of you will hear my terms. This is non-negotiable, Potter. No wands, nor other weapons of any kind. Don't try anything if you want to see your kids again. –R.S._

Ron swore at the invective against Hermione, but everyone else seemed more concerned about the demand that had Harry in such a dither.

"Why does he want Ginny?" asked Arthur, with an anxious look at his only daughter.

"It doesn't matter why," Harry replied. "I'm not having it. It's bad enough that I'm risking Teddy. . ."

"I volunteered, remember?" Ted reminded him.

"That doesn't mean I have to like it, Ted," said Harry. "I don't like it, not one bit, and I'm sure as hell not going along with this. We'll just scrap the plan and come up with something else."

"Harry, it says 'non-negotiable,'" said Ginny. "It doesn't sound like we have a choice."

"I don't understand," Bill said, scowling at the note he now held in his hand. "Why Ginny? It's not as if she has any unusual sway over the Ministry."

"She has plenty of sway over me, though," said Harry. "I think I know where he's coming from with this. Scrimgeour met Ginny once and actually made some comment to me about how small she is. He probably thinks he can handle her fairly easily and, through her, me.

"Then let's not disabuse him of that charming fallacy," said Ginny. "Instead, let's use it to our advantage. I can play feminine helplessness." She added as a kind of afterthought, "When it suits me."

"Maybe I should be the one to go with Harry," Hermione said. Predictably, Ron began to sputter. "Listen, Ron, I work for the Ministry too, and they do have Rose. . ."

"Neither of you is going," Harry insisted. "We're not doing it, I tell you. I'll just owl him back and . . ."

"That note seems pretty unequivocal to me," said Ginny. "Personally, I don't think we should risk it."

"Ginny, I am not going to let you. . ."

"_Let_ me?" she fired back before Harry could complete the thought. "Try and stop me! Whether you like it or not, Harry, I'm going to be at Stoatshead Hill at eight this evening."

"Ginny, listen to me," Harry pleaded. "Please listen . . ."

He tried to put his arms around her, but she pushed him away with such force that he fell back a step. "No, _you_ listen!" she said in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. "I want my sons, Harry! I want my sons, and I'll do whatever I have to do to get them back! Do you hear me? I'll do anything!"

It was these last three words that stopped Harry in his tracks, leaving him dazed and dumbstruck. They were the exact same words he'd heard his mother shrieking whenever Dementors drew too close. Even now he could hear her voice, echoing through the years, pleading for mercy as she shielded her son from the man determined to kill him: _"Not Harry, not Harry!_ _Please!_ _I'll do anything!"_ Like Lily Potter, there was no force in heaven or on earth that would stop Ginny, and Harry was powerless before such desperate courage. Powerless but horrified, especially knowing there was nothing that would change her mind.

Harry and Ginny continued to stare at one another until Ron broke the impasse by saying, "She's right, Harry."

Harry gave him a reproachful look,. He had counted on Ron as an ally. "Ron, she's your sister!"

"I know that. And I don't like it either, but it's like Ginny said, isn't it? We don't have a choice. I think the plan can still work, though, with a few adjustments. It's simply a matter of changing our strategy. Normally I don't like to bring the queen into play this early in the game, but. . ."

"Ron," said Hermione, looking a bit worried. "You do realize this isn't an actual chess game, don't you?"

"Life is a chess game, Hermione," Ron replied. "And we already have a lot of what we need to win. Come back in here, everyone, and let's re-work the situation." He led the way to the garage where he rearranged a few chess pieces and explained the altered plan he had in mind.

The rest of the day passed slowly. It was easily the longest day Harry had ever lived through, and judging by the faces of those around him, it wasn't exactly racing by for anyone else. The rest of the family either sat or stood around talking quietly, though discussion tended to cease abruptly the instant Harry, Ginny, Ron or Hermione appeared. Molly tried to persuade everyone to eat something, but no one seemed to have any appetite. Ron kept taking off his watch and shaking it as if he couldn't believe it hadn't actually stopped. Hermione ranged between pacing back and forth, seemingly unable to either sit or stand still, to holding Hugo on her lap while tears fell into the little boy's ginger hair. Lily followed her parents around like a silent shadow, clutching at their hands or their robes as though fearing to let either of them out of her sight, and making Harry dread the moment when they would have to leave her that much more. Like everyone else in the family, Lily had not slept much the night before, but Harry and Ginny finally convinced her to have a kip by lying down with her on the big double bed in Molly and Arthur's room. With Lily between them, each holding one of her small, perfect hands, their daughter slept. Ginny and Harry, however, remained wakeful, looking round the darkened room and listening to the sound of Lily's soft, even breathing.

"Please, Ginny," Harry whispered, unable to stop himself from trying again. "For her sake. For Lily. Please?"

Ginny was stroking Lily's hair. "If anything happened to you," Harry said, "if anything went wrong. . . Oh, my love, I couldn't bear it!"

She said nothing, but took her free hand and clasped his across their daughter's sleeping form. Harry gazed at her, his heart in his eyes, longing to go back in time, or else go forward when it would all be over. It _would _be over soon, and when it was, the waking nightmare would end. James and Albus would be back where they belonged, safe within the bosom of their family, and Rose would be reunited with Ron, Hermione, and Hugo. It would all be in the past, a vague, unhappy memory, and life would continue as it should. It was a good plan, Harry knew that, and this was comforting in its way. They'd left as little as possible to chance, though chance was surely the operative word in a situation like this. Harry and Ron had worked out every detail between them, working side-by-side as they hadn't in years, and never before had either of them been so highly motivated. And it would succeed, because it _had_ to succeed, because anything else was unthinkable. With this thought in mind, knowing there really was no other choice, Harry closed his eyes and, for a little while, he slept.

The moment of leave-taking was even harder than Harry had anticipated. They both clung to Lily and had to pluck her fingers one by one from her mother's robes before she would let go. She finally consented to go to Molly who could not stop the tears falling from her own eyes as Ginny hugged her and kissed Lily one last time. Harry hugged Molly too, and kissed his daughter who gazed at him accusingly, but he tried to affect an easy tone when he said, "Be a good girl for Gran and Grandad, sweetheart. Mummy and I will be back soon and we'll bring James and Al with us." Then he kissed Lily again and with a quickly whispered, "Goodbye, my little witch," he took Ginny's hand and they set off together toward Stoatshead Hill.

Ron and Hermione, along with Bill, Charlie, Percy, and George, walked with them part of the way. Teddy had already gone ahead, as per their arrangement, and his departure had been every bit as emotional, though his parting from Victoire had been relatively casual. Apparently Ted still had not forgiven himself for being with her when he should, in his opinion, have been watching over Al and James. But Harry had overheard a heated discussion between Victoire and her parents during which she begged to be allowed to participate in the rescue so that she could, as Harry knew, watch over Ted. However, a shrill, "_Non!_" from Fleur and a snarling, "Don't even think about it!" from Bill sternly rebuffed her, and Victoire flounced off like a 1920s film star. Harry thought of this scene as they walked toward Stoatshead Hill. He hoped he would not earn Victoire's enmity again for placing Teddy in danger, while Ron kept up a running commentary, reminding everyone of the roles they would play, though they had all committed the entire plan to memory hours ago.

Finally they came to the jumping off point. Ginny and Harry would walk the rest of the way alone. With more hugs and heartfelt assurances, they made their goodbyes and continued up the hill. The portkey was easy to spot, a rusty old tin bucket with a tiny "S" scratched onto its side. Harry glanced at Fabian Prewett's watch. Dusk was beginning to fall and, seeing they had just one minute to go, each placed a finger on the bucket. Their eyes met as the portkey started to glow.

"I love you," Harry said, just before he felt the familiar hook behind his navel, and Ginny said, "I love you, too!" And then they were swirling together in darkness, spinning toward a vast unknown.

When the spinning stopped and their feet hit solid earth, they were in a forest clearing similar to the one where McLaggen had been captured, but not, Harry knew, exactly the same. They'd no sooner gotten their bearings again when a voice cried, "'ands over yer 'eads! Both of yeh! An' don' turn round, if yeh value yer lives!"

The voice was unfamiliar, but they did as they were told. Harry felt hands patting him down, searching for a wand or other weapon. Someone did the same to Ginny, though less roughly, Harry was glad to see. His arms were jerked behind his back, and a voice said, "_Incarcerous_!" as thick ropes bound his hands. Something prodded him in the back, then the voice said again, "Don' try nuthun', Potter. We got yeh covered and won' mind cursin' yer missus effen yeh put one toe outta line."

Only one person had spoken, but the sounds behind them indicated at least two moving about. The sun had not yet disappeared, but the densely packed woods all around them made it seem even darker. Moving only his eyes, Harry barely discerned the outline of a rocky cliff in the distance, surrounded by brush and even more thickset trees. The sound of rushing water indicated a stream not far away. The smells of wet earth and damp leaves, still sodden from last night's rain, filled the air.

Hands came up behind Harry, placing a blindfold over his eyes, then he was turned in a new direction and the voice said, "We're takin' yeh to the boss. Yeh'll 'ave to walk a bit. Don' try nuthun', understan'?"

Harry nodded and again he felt a prod in the back. He started to walk along what was clearly a dirt path. The sound of footsteps indicated that Ginny and two others were behind him. He tried to calm the wild hammering of his heart, tried to push to the back of his mind his fear for Ginny, his terror for James, Al, and Rose, his worry over Teddy, his uncertainty about the plan itself. Had they guessed rightly? Were his instincts correct? His ears strained, listening for any sound in the distance, but only the chirping of crickets and the soft sigh of the wind through the trees came back to him.

There was a hand on his arm and a voice telling him to step up, then they were climbing over something that felt like solid rock. "Mind yer 'ead," said the voice, then came the order to halt. The blindfold was pulled away and Rowan Scrimgeour stood before him, his face illuminated by the light from several torches set along the walls.

With small, quick glances, Harry took in his surroundings. They had entered a cave and were standing in a little room that looked as if it had been hewn out of solid rock. There were jagged ledges above them and a few stalactites erupted from the ceiling, but the floor and lower parts of the walls were flat and relatively even, as though water or magic had smoothed off most of the rough edges.

Ginny was brought up beside Harry. The two of them stood facing Scrimgeour, though this was not the face Harry was used to seeing. This man looked remarkably like the late Minister for Magic when they'd stood nose to nose in the sitting room at the Burrow, when he'd shown a face of rage and resentment that a seventeen-year-old boy would dare defy him, even if he was the "Chosen One" destined to save the world from Lord Voldemort. Rufus Scrimgeour's son looked eerily similar, and he breathed hard into Harry's face, just as his father had done nearly two decades earlier.

"Why couldn't you have gone away?" Scrimgeour demanded. "I begged you to do it. All you had to do was leave for a little while. You could have prevented all this. Why didn't you?"

"You know why," Harry said quietly. "You know I couldn't do that, Rowan."

"But why?" Scrimgeour asked again, and to Harry's surprise he sounded almost plaintive. "I was moving everything out of the country. It would have been completely beyond your jurisdiction. It wouldn't have been your problem anymore. But you just couldn't leave it alone, could you? Wasn't it enough that you destroyed my father? You had to try to destroy me too?"

Harry's surprise turned to incredulity. "What are you talking about? I didn't destroy. . ."

"You may as well have!" Scrimgeour insisted. "You may as well have killed him yourself! He died protecting you! And even before that, you wouldn't cooperate. You wouldn't help him at all. He was so frustrated, so enraged by your defiance. I saw it myself in the last days before his death. You didn't even try to hide your contempt for him, did you?"

"The Ministry was under Voldemort's control," Harry pointed out. "Even before your father. . ."

"No!" Scrimgeour shouted, and there was an almost demented look in his eyes. "He wouldn't have permitted that! He never would have allowed it! He spent his whole life fighting the Dark Arts, then you and Dumbledore came along and undermined all his efforts at the most crucial juncture in history. Why did you have to do it, Potter? You could have prevented it, you know, all of it: the war, all the deaths, everything. If you had only cooperated instead of working against him, it never would have happened!"

Harry had to fight the urge to shake his head like a dog just coming out of the water. Scrimgeour believed what he was saying! That was the incredible part of all this. Had Rufus Scrimgeour relayed this altered version of events to his son, or had Rowan manufactured the entire scenario in his own mind to justify his father's failure? Or had he, perhaps, invented it all to justify what he himself had done?

"You can't tell me your father would have approved of what you've been doing," Harry couldn't stop himself from saying. "Why, Rowan? Was it all about the gold?"

The anguish in Scrimgeour's face and voice gave way to bitterness. He gave a short, harsh laugh and said, "I once read a story by a Muggle author who said one of the truest things I think I've ever heard in my life: 'There is nothing the world condemns so much as the pursuit of wealth, yet nothing upon which it is harder than poverty.' My father dedicated his entire life to the Ministry, and he left next to nothing when he died. Yes, I know he was Minister, but there are so many expenses associated with the job, you can't even imagine. Try raising a family on a Ministry salary sometime and see how easy you find it. But it's always been easy for you, hasn't it, Potter, with your inherited wealth? If you never worked another day in your life it wouldn't matter."

"You think Harry's life has been easy?" said Ginny. Harry tried to nudge her into silence, but the hard, blazing look was there and nothing would stop her. "He's been to hell and back more times than you can imagine!"

"I've heard all the stories, Mrs. Potter," Scrimgeour replied. "I've heard them just as everyone else in our world has. But how many know how much help your husband had along the way? How many know how much luck played a part in his achievements? And how many know how much blood is on his hands from those who sacrificed themselves to build his legend?"

"You're a fool," said Ginny contemptuously. "You're a bitter fool, and you know nothing at all about my husband!"

"Ginny," Harry cautioned.

"No, no," said Scrimgeour, now regarding Ginny with wry amusement. "The lady is entitled to her opinion, after all." He looked Ginny up and down in a way that brought a blush to her face, and Harry felt his hands clench into fists within their bindings. "You have a beautiful wife, Potter. I had a beautiful wife once, too. Did you know that? She left me when you beat me out for promotion to head of the Auror Department. She ran off with another wizard whose prospects seemed a little brighter. And after that, I decided I just didn't care. I didn't care about following the rules anymore, so when an opportunity came along that showed me a way to get a little of my own back, I decided to take it. I was tired of busting my arse and getting nowhere, tired of trying to earn respect, especially once I realized that the only respect that means anything in this world is the kind that's backed up by solid gold."

"Do you honestly believe that?" Harry asked a bit sadly.

"You forced my hand!" Scrimgeour exclaimed. "You backed me into a corner! You've been doing it for years. You left me with no other choice."

"Everyone has choices," said Ginny.

"Maybe you do, Mrs. Potter," Scrimgeour said. "Maybe you and your husband do, but I don't. I never have."

"What do you want, Rowan?" Harry said, tired of Scrimgeour's self-pity. "_We_ want our children. What do _you_ want?"

Scrimgeour looked at Harry with loathing. "You've made it impossible for me to remain in England. In fact, you've made it impossible for me to stay anywhere in Europe. But I've made other arrangements, so I want you to ensure that I, and a handful of others, are allowed to. . ."

He broke off at the sound of a commotion in the distance. With his attention focused at the mouth of the cave, Harry risked a longer look at Ginny. She seemed controlled, but her eyes were wary. Harry looked away, but not before noticing the man standing behind Ginny. It was Rob Wilkinson.

"Bobby!" Scrimgeour barked, and Harry realized with a start that he was talking to Wilkinson. "Go out there and see and what's happening."

Wilkinson seemed hesitant. "Why don't you send Fletcher. . .?"

"I said go!" Scrimgeour roared, and Wilkinson started to head out. Before he could take more than a few steps, however, two men appeared, one holding the other at wand-point.

"Look what I found skulkin' round the trees," said a squat, gap-toothed man with stringy hair, and Harry's heart did a flip-flop when he recognized the man's prisoner.

Scrimgeour walked over to them and raised Teddy's chin, forcing his eyes up. "Lupin," he said in disgust. "Thought you'd be a hero, did you?"

"Lupin?" said the gap-toothed man. "The werewolf's kid? Reckon it's near the full moon and he needed a place to howl, mebbe?" He cackled at his own joke as did the man called Fletcher, the one who had apparently spoken earlier. Harry could see that he was of the same ilk as gap-tooth, though Fletcher's hair was curly and several of his teeth overlapped.

"How'd you find us?" Scrimgeour demanded. "How did you know where to find us?"

"I-I didn't," Teddy stammered. Harry cringed when he realized that Ted's lip was bleeding and one of his eyes was starting to swell shut. Apparently he'd been roughed up when gap-tooth stumbled upon him. "I just started searching everywhere I could think of. I hoped I might be able to find the children and I . . . well, I ended up in the woods near here."

"Got lucky, did you?" said Scrimgeour. "Well, I think your luck just ran out."

Ginny gave a little scream as Scrimgeour backhanded Teddy across the face and he fell to his knees on the damp cave floor.

"Stop it!" Harry shouted. "Leave him alone!"

Scrimgeour turned to look at Harry. "Did you set this up? Did you order him to come looking for you?"

"No," Harry insisted. "No, I didn't. In fact, I . . . I'm very disappointed. I told you to stay behind, Ted. I told you not to try and find us. Why didn't you listen to me?"

Teddy lifted his head. There was a fresh bruise already blooming above his cheek bone. "I'm sorry, Harry. I was . . . I was just so worried about you and Ginny and the kids that I . . . I . . . I'm sorry."

"He's only a boy," Harry said to Scrimgeour. "He did a foolish thing, but please, Rowan. I'm begging you. Don't hurt him. Please."

"How many others are out there, Potter?" Scrimgeour demanded. "How many others are out there lurking behind trees, waiting for your signal?"

"No one," Harry insisted. "There's no one else. Do you think I'm a fool? The lives of my sons are at stake! Why would I put them at even greater risk?" Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed. "Search the woods, if you like," Harry continued. "Send your men out to scour the entire area. You won't find anyone else out there, I swear it."

Scrimgeour looked at Teddy again. "Tie him up, Bobby. Make sure he hasn't still got a wand on him."

"I got the bleedin' wand," said gap-tooth, holding up Teddy's wand. "Doncha think I wouldda checked?"

"Make sure of it, Bobby," Scrimgeour repeated, taking the wand and tucking it inside his robes. "He might have a spare on him somewhere."

"I checked awready!" said gap-tooth resentfully, as Wilkinson pointed his own wand at Teddy and ropes shot out of the end, binding his hands behind his back.

"Tie his ankles, too, Bobby. He's a hot-head, this one, and it's best not to take chances. And you two," Scrimgeour added to gap-tooth and the man called Fletcher. "Go back out there and see if you can spot any more of Potter's little friends."

"I told you there's no one," said Harry.

"You'll pardon me, Potter, if I don't take your word for it," Scrimgeour replied. "Bobby, I told you to search that idiot boy! Make sure he hasn't got anything on him that he can use as a weapon. And make absolutely sure those ropes are secure."

Wilkinson knelt in front of Teddy to check the ropes around his ankles. "Traitor!" Harry heard Teddy mutter as Wilkinson came close. Scrimgeour had already turned away, but Harry held his breath as he waited for a response. Wilkinson, however, merely dropped his gaze and continued rummaging through the pockets of Teddy's robes. Harry could feel Ginny's eyes on him, but he didn't dare look at her. She had seen Wilkinson's reaction too, and knew that another of Harry's hunches was correct.

Scrimgeour faced Harry again. "We were discussing my terms, Potter."

"No, I don't think we were," Harry said with a surge of renewed confidence. "We're not discussing terms until I've seen all three children."

Scrimgeour's eyebrows shot up. "You're not in the best position to negotiate."

"I already have authority from the Minister to arrange for your safe conduct," Harry said. "We assumed that was what you were after, but I won't say another word until you've taken me to wherever my sons and my niece are being held. Once I'm assured they're all right, we can talk. Not before."

"You're not giving the orders here, Potter!"

"Those are _my_ terms, Scrimgeour," Harry replied. "And they're non-negotiable."

Scrimgeour strode over to Ginny and jerked her roughly off to one side. "Lay a hand or a wand on her, and you won't get a thing out of me," Harry warned him.

"How about if I torture her in front of you?" asked Scrimgeour, dragging Ginny backward with his wand to her throat. "Would that persuade you, do you think?"

"Rowan," said Wilkinson, scrambling to his feet. "You promised nobody would get hurt!"

"Shut up, Bobby!" Scrimgeour hissed, still holding onto Ginny with a vice-like grip.

"Rowan," Wilkinson said again. "You swore to me. . ."

"I said, _shut up_!" Scrimgeour roared. His voice echoed off the cave walls and made the torches flicker.

"Harm her in any way and you'll have to kill me," said Harry. "That won't get you out of the country, will it?"

Harry forced himself to speak calmly, just as Ginny was struggling against her own very powerful urge to lash out. Harry could see a battle raging in her eyes as her natural inclination warred with her desire to appear fragile and helpless. "Let her go, Scrimgeour," Harry said. "Let her go and take me to the children. Otherwise there is no deal."

Scrimgeour considered his options. Harry watched his eyes move round the dimly lit cave, taking in the sight of his brother, cringing against the farthest wall, clearly terrified of him. He glanced at Ted, wandless and helpless, bound hand and foot on the cave floor. Then he looked at Ginny, who cast her eyes demurely down as he studied her. Harry could almost hear the wheels turning in Scrimgeour's head, for he had seen this happen before and had even been guilty of it himself from time to time. Ginny barely came up to Scrimgeour's collarbone. There hardly seemed to be any substance to her. But Harry knew that she had forced herself to go limp when Scrimgeour grabbed her so that her well-toned muscles, astonishingly strong from all her years playing Quidditch, would not be obvious to Scrimgeour who was surely thinking this slight, feminine creature could not possibly pose any threat.

Scrimgeour seemed to come to a decision. "Stay with her and the Lupin kid," he said to Wilkinson, shoving Ginny toward him. "I'll take Potter to see his brats. If Fletcher and Quincy get back before we do, make them stand guard outside. We don't need any more unexpected visitors."

Ginny stumbled as Scrimgeour released her, but Wilkinson caught her and helped her sit beside Teddy near the cave entrance. Harry stared down at them, signaling with his eyes, and they responded with mute acknowledgements. Teddy blinked twice while the slight tilt of Ginny's head told Harry that she understood.

Harry turned at a sudden grinding noise. Scrimgeour was pointing his wand at the opposite wall and a panel of solid rock was moving, revealing a hidden tunnel that wended its way toward darkness.

Scrimgeour grabbed one of the torches off the wall and said, "After you, I think, Potter."

Hands still tied behind his back, his heart in his throat and anxiety at a fever pitch, Harry cast one last look at Ginny and Teddy, and walked with every appearance of composure into the tunnel.

-------------

_**A/N:**__ There are two more chapters plus an Epilogue yet to come. __By the way, the quote Scrimgeour attributes to a 'Muggle author' comes from Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol."_


	17. Chapter 17

**THE LETTER**

_**A/N:**__ Harry and Ginny's quest to rescue their children continues with some surprising twists, including a little assistance from Teddy Lupin who brings new meaning to the phrase, "I've got a secret. . ." _

_BTW, in regard to Bill Weasley's "lingering effects. . ." Since we're all borrowing quite a lot from J K Rowling, and on the premise that imitiation is truly the highest form of flattery, I freely confess to borrowing a bit from Bad Mum's incredible fanfic "Full Moon at Shell Cottage." If you haven't yet read it, you should make every effort to do so because it's absolutely wonderful, as is everything she writes._

**Chapter Seventeen**

Harry had to bend almost double to make his way through the narrow tunnel. The walls and floors were slimy with lichen, and since he was unable to use his hands to steady himself, he found it difficult to keep his footing. Several times he almost slipped, but somehow managed to stay upright. Fortunately, it wasn't long before the dim light of the torch Scrimgeour carried revealed another rock wall.

Harry looked back at Scrimgeour, who pointed his wand and muttered an incantation. With a loud grinding noise, the wall began to move. As soon as the opening was large enough, Harry stepped down into a small chamber. Adjusting his eyes to the darkness within, he looked around, expecting to see a door, or perhaps another tunnel. All he could see was a small pile of rubble beneath an oddly-shaped hole in the cave wall. Otherwise the chamber appeared to be empty.

"What the. . ." said Scrimgeour, entering directly behind Harry. He shone his torch in every corner. Finding nothing, he returned to the pile of rocks beneath the uneven hole.

"What the . . ." Scrimgeour said again, clearly bewildered by what he was seeing, or rather not seeing. "They're gone!"

It took Harry a minute to register what he was saying. "Do you mean the children? They were here?"

"Yes! They were right here. Now they're gone!"

Scrimgeour continued shining his torch around the chamber, as if someone might be hiding inside the walls. He kicked at the pile of rubble and ran his hand over the rough edges of the hole. It was, Harry noted, just big enough for a child to squeeze through. "How could they?" Scrimgeour kept saying. "How _could _they?"

"Where are they?" Harry demanded. "What have you done with them?"

"I haven't done anything! The little bastards have done a runner!"

"You mean they escaped?" Harry said incredulously. "Where have they gone?"

"How should I know?"

"So help me, Scrimgeour, if you've harmed a single hair on any of their heads . . ."

"I haven't done anything, I tell you! They were here. I saw them myself just a couple of hours ago. Bobby and I brought them food and then . . ."

Harry took a step forward and felt a crunching beneath his feet. Scrimgeour heard it and shone his torch on the place where Harry's foot had been. The light reflected on the remnants of a broken glass jar. In between the broken shards were several dead fireflies and something else that Harry could not immediately identify. Scrimgeour picked it up, turning it over between his fingers. It looked like a spent cartridge. By the light of the torch, Harry could just make out a logo on the tattered paper that still clung to it. It was, in fact, a very familiar logo. Directly beneath it, barely discernible in the dim light, were the printed letters: WWW

"It's a firework," Scrimgeour said wonderingly. "A spent firework! And look, here are more!" He picked up several other cartridges littering the cave floor. They must . . . They had to . . . But how _could_ they!"

Harry's mind was racing. Looking at the hole in the wall, he noticed a vertical crack that ran from floor to ceiling. When Scrimgeour aimed his torch at the hole, light shone through to a narrow tunnel just beyond the chamber. The firework cartridges contained gunpowder. If they'd been detonated in an especially weak spot, the children might have managed to blow a big enough opening to crawl through. But how did they do it? They'd have needed fire, for one thing, and . . . Oh, of course. The fireflies. Even so, how could they have pulled it off without anyone hearing? The cave walls were certainly thick, but something that loud would surely have attracted notice. They'd taken a terrible chance to risk something like that. Even more worrying, where were they now? They must be somewhere within the cave. Perhaps deep inside the cave, lost and no doubt wandering aimlessly within the bowels of the earth. It wasn't a comforting thought, not least because of the tremendous kink which their escape had put in his and Ron's plan to rescue them.

Harry's mind immediately snapped back to the outer chamber where Ginny and Teddy would already be implementing their portion of the plan. He had to stop them! He had to get back there before . . .

A terrible snarling sound was followed by a shriek of sheer horror. It came from the main chamber through which they had entered. Scrimgeour looked toward the tunnel and said again, "What the . . ."

Harry made an instantaneous decision, born entirely of impulse. It was too late to abort the plan. They would have to go through with it regardless, and deal with finding the children later. "Ron!" Harry cried. "Ron, NOW!"

The complete incongruity of these words seemed to give Scrimgeour pause. "What did you say?"

There was a flash of light, followed by several popping sounds, but they seemed distant and muffled. Despite this, Harry looked around, expecting to see someone Apparate, but the chamber remained empty. His heart sank as he realized what must have gone wrong. Scrimgeour was an Auror. Of course he would have considered the simple security measure of an Imperturbable Charm. No one could Apparate inside the chamber. Maybe they couldn't even Apparate inside the cave. It was the one possibility Harry had not considered, the single flaw in their otherwise brilliant plan. Ron and the others were probably wandering around outside somewhere, searching for an opening. Worse yet, Scrimgeour had finally realized he'd been tricked. Although he didn't quite understand what was happening yet, his eyes narrowed in sudden dawning comprehension and he raised his wand, preparing to strike. Acting once more on pure instinct, Harry launched himself forward, ramming Scrimgeour with his shoulder and sending him sprawling.

The wand flew out of Scrimgeour's hand as he hit the ground. He swore violently as Harry kicked the wand out of the way, then kicked out again, aiming for the solar-plexus. But Scrimgeour, his Auror-honed reflexes intact, twisted round suddenly and grabbed Harry's ankle. Harry felt his legs fly out from under him, along with all the breath in his lungs when he hit the hard cave floor. Scrimgeour pulled back a fist, but Harry rolled away just in time, receiving nothing worse than a clout to the side of the head that nevertheless made stars dance before his eyes.

Reeling from the blow, Harry struggled to raise himself, but the smooth rock floor was slick with lichen and with his hands still tied behind his back he couldn't gain a foothold. Scrimgeour tried to punch him again, but Harry rolled so quickly that he ended up punching the wall instead. Shouting in pain, Scrimgeour abandoned the effort to pummel Harry and groped along the floor until he found his wand. By the light of the torch lying off to one side, Harry could see the look of pure, unalloyed hatred on his face. He had just started moving toward where Harry lay, sprawled and helpless, when the sound of voices met their ears.

"Harry!" came a blessedly familiar, magically amplified voice from someplace just beyond the chamber wall. "Harry, where are you? Call again!"

"Ron!" Harry yelled, half raising himself. "Ron, in here!"

There was another flash of light and Scrimgeour spun around, blinded by the flash as running footsteps came from somewhere down the tunnel. Harry looked up to see Ginny standing at the entrance to the chamber. Her eyes blazed with a fierce light as she pointed Rob Wilkinson's wand at Scrimgeour and screamed at the top of her lungs, "_Expelliarmus_!"

Scrimgeour's wand flew upward, hitting the wall of the cave as a voice on the other side called out, "Harry, get back and get down! We're coming through! On the count of three: One. . ."

Ginny threw herself over Harry's still prone form, shielding him with her body. Scrimgeour swung his head wildly from side to side, looking first at them, then at the wall through which Ron shouted, "Two!"

Scrimgeour dove for his wand just as Ron's voice roared, "Three!" A deafening blast rent the air, blowing the wall inward, and burying Scrimgeour and his wand beneath an avalanche of rock and dirt.

Ginny lifted her head as soon as the reverberations began to fade. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," Harry said, looking up at her through the dust. "You?"

"I'm fine." She continued to stare down at him with a dazed expression, her robes bunched around her hips where they had gathered when she flung herself on top of him.

"Sweetheart?" Harry said when Ginny failed to move. "Normally I adore this position, but, er, under the circumstances . . ."

"Oh," said Ginny. "Right" She rolled off him and pointed Wilkinson's wand at the ropes still binding his hands. A Severing Charm had him free in an instant.

Harry rubbed his wrists where the ropes had cut into his flesh. "I think you just saved my life."

Ginny's hands and arms were scratched and bleeding, her robes were torn, and her face and hair were coated with rock dust, but she still managed to look beautiful. "You saved my life in the Chamber of Secrets, remember?"

Harry grinned and hugged her. "Call it even?"

"Done!" she laughed, a bit hysterically it seemed to him, but she hugged him back and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

Moonlight streamed through the opening in the wall and several silhouettes appeared in the haze. "Harry!" Ron called out, still holding his Deluminator in one hand. "Harry?"

"Over here," Harry called back. He got to his feet, pulling Ginny up with him, as Ron came scrabbling over the rubble, followed by Hermione, Bill, Charlie, and George.

"Where are the children?" Hermione said, handing Harry and Ginny their wands which she'd been keeping for them. "Did you find them? Where are they?"

"They escaped," said Harry.

"What?" Ginny exclaimed, looking horrified.

Harry pointed at the hole in the wall. Ron stared in amazement. "Through _that_? But how did they . . .?"

Harry picked up one of the spent cartridges Scrimgeour had dropped near the chamber entrance and held it up. George recognized it at once. He took the cartridge from Harry and said, "You know, I thought I was missing a few of these after our little display last night. They must have pocketed some when my back was turned. Those llittle buggers!" He looked from the cartridge to the wall, and his astonishment turned to admiration. "Talk about innovative! I should hire them!"

"They couldn't have," said Charlie, examining the hole carefully. "Could they?"

"Unless Scrimgeour was lying, and I certainly don't dismiss the possibility, that's apparently what happened," said Harry. "Speaking of Scrimgeour, where is he? Did he get away?"

"This wouldn't be him, would it?"" asked Bill, shining his wand-light on the pile of rubble. Moving closer, Harry could see an arm poking out from beneath a heavy slab of rock.

Ron went over to where Harry and Bill were standing and crouched beside the rubble. Taking the wrist in his hand, he felt for a pulse. Ron stood up slowly and looked at Harry with something between a shocked grimace and a satisfied smile.

"Checkmate," he said.

--------------

Accompanied by a team from Magical Law Enforcement sent by the Minister, Percy captured Fletcher and Quincy in the woods near the cave. But he wasn't able to get anything sensible out of them as they were babbling incoherently and both had been terrified out of their wits by something. Indeed, they seemed almost grateful to see the team of Hit Wizards and practically flung themselves into Percy's waiting arms when he identified himself as a Ministry official. According to Percy, the two wouldn't stop going on about an encounter they claimed to have had with a werewolf at the entrance to the cave.

"Must be some kind of hallucination," said Percy when he caught up with the others. "There's never been a werewolf in these woods, at least not that I've ever heard about. And as for there being a werewolf in that cave, well, that's just about the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. Teddy was there the whole time standing guard over that Wilkinson bloke, and he swears he didn't see anything of the sort."

Several furtive looks passed between Harry, Ginny, Ron and Bill who all knew of Teddy's ability to transform into a werewolf. Unlike the true werewolf, however, Ted's mind remained intact during his transformations which were not dependent on the moon, as he could transform at almost any time and change back into himself at will. It seemed to be an offshoot of his metamorphmagus power, though it terrified him when it initially appeared as a result of the violent hormonal shifts of early adolescence and occasional outbursts of anger. At first it had been involuntary and frightened him so much that he confided in Harry, who was a little nervous himself when he recalled Remus's fear that his unborn child would inherit his condition. Harry decided to consult Bill, for whom the lingering effects of his attack by Fenrir Greyback included terribly painful episodes that occurred during each full moon. Over the years Bill had done enough research to enable him to cope with the problem, and this knowledge enabled him to help Ted control his transformations. But prejudice against werewolves was still rampant and, with Teddy's father having been what he was, it was deemed prudent to keep the matter private. It had remained a secret ever since, but when Harry and Ron began to formulate their plan, Ted volunteered his highly unusual ability to assist in the rescue effort.

It had been a very detailed and intricate plan that was largely dependent on Harry's instinctive knowledge of Scrimgeour, both as an Auror and as a man. Knowing that Scrimgeour was motivated by greed, as well as a profound feeling of being ill-done by, Harry had developed a detailed criminal profile, and it was upon this that Ron based his strategy. Teddy had wandered through the woods for over an hour near the cave where they assumed Scrimgeour and his men were holed up, in the hope of being captured and taken to wherever Ginny and Harry were being held. As soon as Ted turned up, Harry's task was to convince Scrimgeour to take him to the children, at which point he would summon assistance via the Deluminator which had been charmed to respond to his voice. Meanwhile, Teddy would transform into a werewolf and, as this was a truly terrifying spectacle, it enabled him to keep Fletcher and Quincy at bay while Ginny disarmed Wilkinson with a well-aimed knee to the groin. The instant she was free, Ginny raced down the tunnel toward Harry while Teddy chased Fletcher and Quincy into the woods before resuming his usual form and returning to stand guard over a still moaning Wilkinson.

It had all been remarkably smooth, considering the enormous potential for pitfalls, and Scrimgeour had behaved almost exactly as predicted. The only thing that had really gone wrong was the fairly large fact that they still did not have the children, though everyone assumed that James, Al, and Rose must be somewhere inside the cave. But once they'd succeeded in enlarging the hole to allow adults to squeeze through, they all came to the distressing conclusion that finding anyone in the incredible labyrinth of tunnels they uncovered would be somewhat akin to locating a needle in a very confusing haystack.

Percy stayed behind to oversee the removal of Scrimgeour's body while the Magical Law Enforcement squad carted Wilkinson, Fletcher and Quincy off to Azkaban. Having been freed of his responsibility, Teddy joined the others in the tunnel just beyond the chamber while they pondered what to do about the still missing children.

"The best thing might be to split up into pairs," said Ron, as they stood hunched beneath the low ceiling. A few had perched on jagged outcroppings of rock to keep their feet out of the pools that lay everywhere, though water dripped down the walls as well. "Bill and Charlie can take one tunnel, George and Teddy another, then Hermione and I, plus Harry and Ginny can go in a different direction."

"At that rate we might all be finished a week from Thursday," Charlie said. "Bill and I knew this cave pretty well when we were kids and we didn't explore even a fraction of it. Each of these tunnels splits into half a dozen more and each of those into a dozen others. We'd be like rats in a maze."

"How do we know they're still in the cave?" said Ginny. "Maybe they found a way out."

"What are you suggesting?" Bill asked her. "That an underage witch and two underage wizards, the oldest just eleven years old, suddenly figured out how to Apparate? Get serious, Ginny! How could they have gotten out?"

"I don't know," said Ginny, shivering in the chill dampness of the dark cave. "I just don't feel like they're here."

"What do you mean, you don't 'feel' like they're here?" asked Harry, feeling a different kind of chill entirely. "Are you saying you think they're . . ."

"No," Ginny said quickly. "They're alive. I know they're alive. I'd feel it if . . . if it were otherwise. But they're not here. They're not in this cave. I don't feel their presence."

Everyone was looking at her as if she'd lost her mind. Everyone, that is, except Hermione. "I think I know what she means," she said. "They _were_ here, but they're not anymore. Isn't that what you're saying, Ginny?"

Ginny nodded. "I don't know why I feel that way. I just do. Does it make any sense to you, Hermione?"

"No," said Hermione. "But I understand. And I believe you."

The two women looked at each other in the flickering light cast by many wands. Then Hermione, her hair even wilder and bushier than usual in the damp environment, pointed her own wand into the depths of the cave and said, "_Homenum revelio_!"

Everyone held their breath, but nothing happened. "Would it work," Ron began, swallowed hard, then started over. "Would it work if the human presence wasn't . . . alive?"

"I'm not sure," said Hermione. "But I agree with Ginny. I'd know if anything had happened to Rose. She's alive. I'm sure of that."

"Then where in the hell _are_ they?" asked Harry in frustration.

"Maybe we should search the woods," Teddy suggested. "We can split into pairs, just like Bill said, and. . ."

Teddy broke off when Hermione held up a hand for silence. "Do you hear that?"

Everyone stilled to listen. The only thing Harry could hear was the gentle drip of moisture from the stalactites onto the floor of the cave. But when he listened closer, he thought he heard something else. It was very distant, but vaguely familiar, a faint gurgling sound, like water rushing over rocks. . .

"It's a stream!" Harry said. "Hermione, there's a stream nearby! I heard it when Ginny and I arrived via portkey. It's near here, I know it! We didn't walk far, so it has to be near."

"It must run near this cave," said Hermione. "And the children would have heard it through the crack in the wall." Her face lit up with a strange, almost ethereal light, and she burst into tears. "Oh, my clever girl!" she sobbed. "My clever, clever girl!"

"Hermione!" Ron said in some alarm. "What _is_ it? What's wrong?"

"She knew!" Hermione cried. "Rose _knew_, Ron, don't you understand? She heard the stream too, when they first brought the children here, and knew that if they followed that sound, they could find their way out! She read a book about it once! It was all about caving, and she must have told the boys. And they set off the fireworks to create a big enough space to slip through. Oh, Ron, don't you see? Ginny's right! They're not in the cave anymore! All we have to do is follow the sound the same way they did and we'll find them!"

The Weasley men and Teddy all shifted uneasily. In their faces Harry could read skepticism and doubt. But Ginny was staring at Hermione and in her face was the same brilliant light. And Harry suddenly realized that, as usual, Hermione was right. But this time it wasn't the cool force of logic for which she was justly famous that had brought her to her inescapable conclusions. This time she was guided by the same power that drew Ginny up the largest tunnel alongside Hermione at a brisk pace, while the men followed grudgingly, with considerably less faith.

But Harry no longer doubted, because this was the mysterious force that lived within his very skin. It was a force with enough power to bring forth life from within itself, a force that could make even the gentlest of women, even those who would faint at the sight of a spider, commit any violence to preserve their young. It was the power of love, a power which Dumbledore had once described as _"at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature."_ Harry did not question how Ginny and Hermione knew what they knew. It was enough to know that they knew it. And he, who had survived because of it, who even now could not bear to live without it, would have followed them unfalteringly to the very ends of the earth.

--------------

_**A/N:**__ We're in the home stretch, but there's still another chapter and an Epilogue to come. Stay tuned for the dramatic conclusion and once again, thanks for taking the time to leave a review._


	18. Chapter 18

**THE LETTER**

_**A/N:**__ This was a difficult chapter to write, primarily because it deals with such strong emotions, but also because it's so near the conclusion that I wanted to make sure I had all the i's dotted and t's crossed. In addition, I think there may be a bit of reluctance on my part to let this story go. Thus, the delay in posting. Whatever questions aren't answered in this chapter will hopefully be provided in the Epilogue. So here it is, for your reading pleasure, and please take just a minute to leave a review at the end._

**Chapter Eighteen**

Hermione and Ginny followed the children's trail unerringly, as if both were guided by radar. The sound of rushing water grew louder as they made their way upward. Finally they came to an opening, nearly obscured by an overgrowth of brush. Ginny gave an exclamation of joy when a gorse bush gave up a bit of torn cloth which she insisted was from Albus's robes. A little way on, Hermione caught sight of a hair ribbon that she kissed and wept over as if it was a living thing. On a trail leading into the woods, the glint of a wand light on metal turned out to be a broken blade from the knife James always carried in his pocket. But it was Teddy who placed a finger to his lips and pointed in silence to the low hanging branches of a hawthorn tree, beneath which the three children lay sleeping, huddled together like puppies in a basket, under a canopy of leaves.

Albus was curled next to Rose, one arm wrapped protectively around her, while James was propped against the tree trunk with his new wand clenched in one grubby fist. That wand, so dearly cherished, was little more than a stick of wood to one so young, but he held it like a sword, a sleeping sentinel watching over the younger children. The Weasley brothers and Teddy all hung back to allow the parents to reclaim their offspring, but the four approached in a reverent hush, as though fearing any sudden movement or sound might cause the babes in the woods to disappear, having been nothing more than a mirage.

If he lived a thousand years, Harry knew that he would never forget the look on Ginny's face when she knelt beside her sleeping sons. A gentle touch was all it took to bring James to instant wakefulness. One look, one glad cry, then his arms were about his mother's neck and she held her boy while silent sobs shook both of them. Harry scooped a still sleeping Albus into his arms so that Hermione and Ron could get to Rose. He heard her waken with a surprised, "Mummy! Daddy!" which did both of them in because she hadn't called them that since she was four.

Harry carried Albus to where Ginny and James still clung, and set him down, causing him to wake with a start. His glasses askew, blinking in confusion, Albus cried, "I knew you'd come!" and then all four of them were holding each other so tightly it seemed they would never let go, an indistinguishable tangle of gripping hands, clutching arms and happy tears. Then four became seven, and Harry and Ginny embraced Rose while Ron and Hermione hugged and wept over James and Al. They could not get enough of kissing the dirty faces, of telling them how much they were missed and how deeply loved. It might have gone on indefinitely had not George, who was a soppy mess by this time, as were his brothers and Teddy, said, "Bugger it. Give over, you lot, and share the wealth!"

The children were borne back to the Burrow in triumph. No sooner had they Apparated at the end of the lane when half a dozen wand lights came flickering toward them. Molly and Arthur, with Lily and Hugo in tow, came first, followed by Katie, Olga, Fleur, Victoire, and all the other Weasley children who began whooping and hollering when they saw Al, James, and Rose. Hagrid came lumbering up the lane, trailed by the Aurors who had remained to stand guard over the family, and swept all three children into his massive embrace, saying, "I knew yeh could do it! I knew yeh'd find 'em! I knew yeh'd bring 'em home in the end!"

Molly, who could find no better outlet for her brimming emotions, knocked up an astonishing meal in almost no time which they ate crowded around the kitchen table either sitting or standing, for no one wanted to miss out on anything. Thick beefy sandwiches, cold chicken and enormous slabs of chocolate cake disappeared in a twinkling while Fleur, Katie, and Olga circulated with Essence of Dittany and bandages for the injured. After delivering the prisoners, Percy had remained in London to assist the Minister, so Penelope and the four P's had returned as well. But a message had gone out to let Percy know the children were safe, and he'd sent one in return, letting them know how overjoyed he was. He'd also sent a message from the Minister who would drop by the Burrow the following day to brief Harry and Hermione on the interrogations which Shacklebolt planned to sit in on personally.

James gave a full, if somewhat embellished account of their time in the cave, with occasional commentary by Albus and frequent corrections from Rose, who seemed determined not to allow her cousin's penchant for hyperbole to run away with him. But James took Rose's critique in stride, for the experience appeared to have imbued him with a unique love and tolerance for all mankind. As he talked, James kept an arm draped about his little sister, who gazed up at him adoringly, and responded to Hugo's completely irrelevant questions with uncharacteristic forbearance. Harry and Ginny smiled at each other, knowing this show of nobility could not possibly last. In fact, it didn't even survive the chocolate cake.

"It wouldn't have happened at all," Rose couldn't seem to resist pointing out, "if you had stayed in the paddock where you belonged."

"You didn't have to come after us, Miss Nosy," James retorted.

"James," Ginny admonished. "That's no way to talk . . ."

Rose cut her off. "Lucky for you I did or you'd still be in that cave!"

"No, we wouldn't," said Albus. "Dad, Mum, Aunt Hermione, and the uncles would have come. And they _did _come!"

"Yes, but we'd already escaped," said Rose. "Thanks to me."

"Rose," Hermione chastised her. "I think a little modesty. . ."

"And us!" James argued. "_We_ had the fireworks, remember?"

"Which you _stole_ from Uncle George!" Rose shot back.

Arthur, ever the diplomat, said with a twinkle in his eye, "I think we're all a bit tired. Where is everyone sleeping, Molly?"

George and Katie decided to Apparate back to London as they had to open the joke shop early the next morning. Hagrid also made his farewells and Harry finally dismissed the Aurors. All the others, however, elected to stay. Once everyone found their beds, thankful there were no empty ones that night, the house grew silent, save for occasional rattling from the ghoul in the attic. Harry and Ginny were in Ginny's old room where camp beds had been set up for the children, none of whom wanted to be far from their parents. But long after his family had dropped off, Harry found that, tired as he was, he could not fall asleep. So many sights and sounds crowded his brain that when he closed his eyes it was like a film that had been set to start running backward the instant his mind shut down. And apparently he wasn't the only one having trouble, because Albus got up and slipped into the hall. When fifteen minutes passed with no sign of him, Harry decided to see where he had gone.

Albus was sitting on the stairs with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "Couldn't sleep?" Harry said, sitting beside him. "Me neither."

Albus didn't say anything, and after a minute Harry asked, "Something on your mind, Al? Something you feel like talking about?"

"I'm sorry we left the paddock, Dad," said Albus, hanging his head as though this had been torturing him. "I know we weren't supposed to, but that friend of Teddy's told us it would be all right. He said he knew where we could find the biggest fireflies ever, so . . . well, he was Teddy's friend. We thought it would be okay."

"Oh, Al," Harry sighed. "I think that may have been my fault. He wasn't a friend of Teddy's. I just told you that because. . . Well, because I was trying to protect you. Looks like I didn't do a very good job of it, did I?"

"It's okay," Albus assured him. "I knew you would find us."

"Did you?" said Harry, touched by the boy's faith. "You must have been awfully scared, though."

"I was at first," Albus admitted. "So was Rose. James too, though he wouldn't admit it. But after awhile we stopped being scared and started talking about what we could do. I was the one who heard the stream through the crack in the wall. Rose tried to take all the credit, but _I_ was the one who heard it first. Then Rose said she heard the same sound when they brought us there. She said if we followed the stream we'd be able to find our way out of the cave and sooner or later we'd come to a village where somebody might help us. It was James's idea to use the fireworks. I was afraid somebody might hear, but he said we had to take the chance. So we did, and anyway, that's how we did it."

"Sounds like you made a good team," said Harry. "All the same, you took an awful risk. If you'd been caught . . . Well, I shudder to think what might have happened."

Albus stared at him. "Those men. Were they the reason you weren't going to let James go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes, Al," Harry said. "They were the reason."

"I never told, you know," said Albus. "I never told James what I heard you and Mum talking about that day."

"I didn't think you would," Harry replied. "You gave me your word, and I believed you."

Albus seemed pleased at this, but then his conscience began to bother him. "A couple of times I almost told. When I got mad because . . . well, he's always winding me up, James is."

"Your brother likes a laugh," said Harry. "I know he can be a bit of a trial, but I appreciate the fact that you resisted the impulse. You are a man of honor, Albus Severus, and I'm proud of you."

Albus looked pleased again, but soon the troubled look was back. "He hated you, didn't he? That man. That Mr. Scrimgeour. He really hated you. Why? Did you do something to him?"

Harry looked at Albus, staring into eyes the exact shape and color as his own. "No, Al, I didn't. Not deliberately anyway. It's kind of hard to explain, but I think it had more to do with who I am."

Albus looked confused. "Who are you?"

Harry couldn't help grinning. "Well, most people call me Harry. . ."

Albus just rolled his eyes. "Dad! Come on."

"All right," said Harry, chuckling. "Whenever people reach a high place in life, there's always someone ready to knock them down. The man who took you, your brother, and Rose was the kind of man who liked to knock people down. He held a grudge against me because of the place I hold, and tried to get back at me through you. It was a low, cowardly, despicable thing to do, but one thing's for sure: he'll never do it again."

"He's. . . dead?" Harry nodded and Albus swallowed hard before asking, "Did . . . did you kill him?"

"No. His death was an accident. All I cared about was getting you back safe and sound. But I'll tell you this much, I would have done whatever I had to do to get you and James and Rose back. So would your mum. So would Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. That's the way it is with parents. We'll do anything for our children."

Albus peered at him through round glasses, looking owlish and wise. "Because you love us so much?"

"Yes, Al," Harry whispered, his throat constricted. "Because we love you so much."

---------------

Everyone slept late the next day and moved a bit sluggishly once they were up and about. Even James, who continued to regale his remaining cousins with bold tales of his adventures, did so with less enthusiasm than the night before. In the afternoon, Kingsley Shacklebolt turned up and asked to speak to Harry and Hermione. They went into the sitting room, the same place they had once met with another Minister, but this was a different type of meeting under very different circumstances.

"Wilkinson, Quincy, and Fletcher were all questioned using Veritaserum," Shacklebolt said. "We got a lot of information out of them. You may be interested to know that Fletcher is a distant relation of old Mundungus."

"Figures," said Harry.

"Yes," Hermione concurred. "Birds of a feather, and all that."

"Indeed," said the Minister. "Interesting story he and Quincy had to tell about a werewolf. I don't suppose either of you know anything about that?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, then Harry explained Teddy's role in the rescue effort. "I'm quite sure no laws have been broken, Minister," Hermione was quick to add. "He's not a true werewolf, nor an Animagus either, so as far as the Registry is concerned . . ."

"No," Shacklebolt agreed. "Of course there was no need. I understand the desire for secrecy, especially under the circumstances, but I don't think I've ever heard of anything like that."

"Nor have I," said Hermione. "It may be unprecedented."

"Useful, though," Shacklebolt said. "Well, the young man showed courage, which is hardly surprising, considering who his parents were. We'll have to find some way to reward him, won't we?"

"I was thinking of the Mad-Eye Award," Harry said.

"I was thinking of an Order of Merlin," Shacklebolt countered. "Second Class, perhaps."

Harry was surprised, but pleased too. Very pleased, in fact. "As you wish, Minister. He certainly deserves it."

"I think so," Shacklebolt replied. "Now, onto Robert Wilkinson. That was a most illuminating interview."

"I'm sure it was," said Harry. "I suppose you found out he's Rufus Scrimgeour's youngest son?"

"Actually, he's not," the Minister corrected. "As it turns out, Vivienne was having a bit on the side." Shacklebolt smiled at the look on Hermione's face. "It happens, you know. Rufus was utterly focused on his career and his wife decided to seek consolation elsewhere. She passed the boy off as her husband's and Rufus never thought to question it. After his death, Vivienne married her lover who adopted the boy, though for the sake of appearances they never let on that he was really Wilkinson's own son."

"Rowan knew, though, didn't he?" said Harry. He was only guessing, but the Minister confirmed it with his next words.

"Rowan appears to have taken his anger at his mother's betrayal out on his half-brother," said Shacklebolt. "He bullied Robert, who lived in terror of him, which was how he ended up involved in this scheme. Robert never took part in the sale or distribution end of things, but Rowan browbeat him into acting as a mole. They communicated through the use of an enchanted coin. That's how Rowan knew they were coming to arrest him at the Leaky Cauldron."

"A Protean Charm," said Hermione, and Harry remembered the fake Galleons she had charmed for Dumbledore's Army. "I should have realized!"

"Robert never knew about Attor," the Minister continued. "He never even knew the extent of his brother's business dealings, and only agreed to help him leave the country on condition no one would be hurt. He claims he didn't realize how truly disturbed his brother had become. Remember, all this came out under Veritaserum, so we can be fairly confident of its veracity. Wilkinson mentioned something else that may interest you. Apparently Rowan and his henchmen were out preparing for the meeting with you when Wilkinson heard something in the chamber where the children were being held. He went back to investigate and when he realized they had escaped, he said nothing in the hope they would have enough time to get away before Rowan realized they were gone."

"I wondered about that," said Harry. "I wondered how they could have done it without anyone hearing."

"Those are some resourceful youngsters you have there," Shacklebolt said. "Though again, it's hardly surprising, considering who their parents are."

Harry and Hermione exchanged another look, and neither could help smiling. Then Harry remembered something. "Attor's formulas. Did Wilkinson know anything about . . ."

"Yes, in fact, he knew exactly where his brother had hidden them. We recovered them early this morning. They include some rather frightening mixtures, according to our experts."

"One of the formulas is very important to a contact of mine," Harry said. "In fact, I made a promise. . ."

"You're talking about Blaise Zabini?" Shacklebolt guessed. "He doesn't need it."

"Minister," said Harry, rather insistently, "Zabini was extremely helpful with this case . . ."

"I've no doubt," Shacklebolt said. "But he doesn't need the formula. Not now anyway. His mother died the night of the storm."

"Oh," said Harry. "I see. I. . . I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm not," Shacklebolt said. "I investigated her when I was an Auror. I would have been willing to bet all the gold in Gringotts that she was guilty of murdering all seven husbands, but I never could prove it. A funny thing about Arachna Zabini, though. However lethal she may have been as a spouse, she was absolutely devoted to her son. She would have killed for him, and may very well have done so. She's left him well fixed financially. He doesn't need that teaching post at Hogwarts, but apparently it's something he wants to do. He's rumored to be quite a gifted potion maker, so he'll probably do well there."

"It just occurred to me, Minister," said Hermione. "How certain are we that copies of those formulas haven't already made their way to others?"

"There's no way of knowing," Shacklebolt said. "Though I imagine that's something you'll want to investigate, Harry."

Harry nodded. "I'd already thought of it. And even if those are the only copies, someone is bound to come up with something similar, or worse, eventually."

"There's always something, isn't there?" Shacklebolt sighed. "Which is why we need you, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "I don't feel that I've distinguished myself all that well lately. A great deal seems to have occurred right under my nose without my noticing."

"It happens to the best of us, Harry," said Shacklebolt. "Hermione already knows this, of course, as she prosecuted the case, but several months ago I learned that two of my most trusted aides were running a scam right out of the Ministry. It disturbed me so deeply that I began to think seriously about retiring."

"That would be a tremendous loss to the entire wizarding community," Hermione said with complete sincerity.

Shacklebolt only shrugged. "Be that as it may, I've decided to hang about for a few more years. At least until someone is ready to take my place."

Ignoring the glint in Hermione's eye, Harry said, "I can't think of anyone who could fill your shoes, Kingsley."

"If the two of you are angling for pay raises, you're wasting your time," Shacklebolt said with an ironic grin. "I'd best be off before my head is too swollen to get through the door."

They walked him out. "I realize you've both been through a terribly trying experience," Shacklebolt said as they reached the kitchen. "I wanted to let you know that neither of you need feel you must rush back to the office."

"I'll be in tomorrow," Hermione promised.

"As will I," Harry said. "As you say, Minister, there's a lot to be done."

Shacklebolt smiled. "I should have known."

They met Ron outdoors. "Ah, the famous Mr. Weasley!" said Shacklebolt, shaking his hand. "I've heard some amazing things about your strategy. I don't suppose we could talk you into returning to civil service, Ron?"

"I was highly motivated in this instance," Ron replied modestly. "Besides, aren't there already enough Weasleys at the Ministry?"

"We do seem to have a fair few," Shacklebolt admitted. "Nevertheless, we can always find a place for talent like yours. Give it some thought, why don't you?"

Once Shacklebolt had gone, Harry turned to Ron and said, only half teasing, "Well, how about it? There's an empty office right next to mine."

"I have an office, thanks," Ron said.

"He's got a point, though, Ron," said Hermione. "Don't you remember during the war when Fred and George developed an entire line of defensive products for the Ministry? There might be an opportunity for something like that again."

"That's right," Harry said. "The Bee was awfully helpful. And some of the modifications you've made to the Deluminator might be just what. . ."

"All right, all right," said Ron. "I'll think about it, okay? I'll talk it over with George and then we'll. . ." He broke off at the look on Harry's face. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to, Harry!"

"Just trying to keep you out of trouble, Ron," said Harry.

"It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it, right?" Ron said dryly.. "But I don't know about working in such close proximity with my own wife. It could create . . . complications. "

"Fair point," Hermione acknowledged, looking worried.

"What I _meant_," Ron clarified, "was that I would find it far too distracting. I'd never get anything done with you around."

"Oh!" said Hermione, turning pink with pleasure as Ron put his arms around her. "Is _that_ what you . . ."

Whatever she'd been about to say was cut off, and Harry decided it was time to leave them. He passed Hugo, who made gagging noises at the sight of his parents kissing, and made his way toward Bill and Charlie who were sitting on a couple of deck chairs under a tree.

"Take my chair, why don't you, Harry?" Charlie said. "I have to go help Olga get everything packed. We're heading back to Romania in the morning, and with five kids there's a lot of gear that goes with us."

Harry took the chair Charlie vacated and said to Bill, "Gringotts give you the day off?"

"I took the day off," said Bill. "I wanted to spend more time with Charlie while he was here, and after the past couple of days, I couldn't face a building full of goblins. Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on _that_"

Bill jabbed a thumb toward Teddy and Victoire who had apparently made up and were sitting together on a blanket in the garden. Victoire was dabbing dittany on Teddy's cuts and abrasions, and from the looks of things, he was feeling much better already.

"She could do a lot worse, you know," said Harry.

"You needn't sell Teddy to me, Harry," Bill replied. "I've always liked him. It's her I'm worried about."

Harry was confused. "She's a Weasley," Bill explained. "And her mother is French. _And_ she's sixteen. Combine that and she's a sack of raging hormones. And frankly, I'm not ready to be a grandfather."

"Oh, come on," Harry said. "You don't honestly think. . ."

"Don't I?" said Bill. "You know how determined we Weasleys can be when we want something. Look at Ginny. She set her cap for you when she was ten years old, and she got what she wanted in the end, didn't she?"

"That's not exactly flattering to me, Bill. I did have _some_ say in the matter."

"Maybe so, but think back, Harry. When you first started going out with Ginny, which of you was it who put the brakes on when things began to get a little out of hand? "

Harry felt his face go red. "I thought so," said Bill. "I won't ask how long you held out because that's getting too personal, but you'll understand what I mean when I say that we Weasleys can be very single-minded. All I can hope is that Teddy shows a little sense."

"I'm sure he will," said Harry, glad to get the focus off himself and Ginny. "He's always been level-headed, and he has a very strong sense of how much he owes this family. I don't really think you've anything to worry about, Bill."

"Teenaged daughters are worrisome creatures. Just wait till Lily is Victoire's age and see how you feel."

Harry frowned. Bill _would_ have to bring that up. He looked over to where Lily was hosting a tea party on the lawn for Molly and Magda. Harry watched as Lily left her younger cousins to bring something to Rose, who was reading nearby. Rose looked up from her book long enough to accept the offered cup, and Lily returned to serve a proper tea to the twins.

"That's a long way into the future," Harry said, adding under his breath, "Fortunately."

"It goes a lot faster than you think," said Bill. "It doesn't seem that long ago Victoire was Lily's age. Now she's a woman, in body if not yet in spirit, and certainly not common sense." He sighed. "Oh, I know I'll give in eventually. But I still have a little time to be an outraged father, and I intend to make the most of it."

Harry grinned. "Might as well. Victoire comes of age next year, doesn't she?"

"Don't remind me." Rather abruptly, Bill called out, "Victoire! Go find your brothers! And see if your mother needs any help. We'll be leaving soon."

Harry went in search of Ginny and found her in the sitting room where she was reading the Riot Act to Albus and James.

". . . and you are not to nick any more of Uncle George's products," Harry heard her saying as he entered the room.

"That was James," Albus protested. "_He_ was the one. . ."

"I don't _care_," Ginny interrupted. "Now repeat after me: 'I will not pinch anything else from Uncle George.'"

"I will not pinch anything else from Uncle George," the boys recited dully.

"Nor from anyone else in the family," said Ginny. "Nor from anyone else at all, for that matter!"

"Nor from anyone else in the family," the boys repeated. "Nor from any . . . what was that last part again, Mum?"

"Never mind," Ginny sighed. "The point is, you shouldn't take things that don't belong to you. And you shouldn't wander off for any reason whatsoever when your father and I tell you to stay put. Now then, is that clear to both of you?"

"Yes, Mum," said the boys together. They were set free, and Harry sat beside Ginny, placing an arm around her along the back of the sofa.

"Back to normal then?" Harry said.

"I was just having a little talk with your sons about certain aspects of their behavior," Ginny explained.

"Why is it they're always _my_ sons when they're misbehaving, but _your _sons whenever they've done something wonderful?" Harry asked.

"Funny how that works, isn't it?"

"Very funny," Harry grinned, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "Does it ever get any easier, do you suppose?"

"I don't know," said Ginny. "But I'm getting Mum and Dad something extra nice for Christmas this year. There were seven of us. Just imagine!" She snuggled closer, fitting herself into the curve of his body. "What were you and Bill talking about? I saw you sitting with him after the Minister left."

"Teenage hormones," said Harry, and he gave her the gist of his conversation with Bill.

Ginny giggled. "Poor Bill."

"Yes, and poor Teddy," Harry said ruefully.

"Poor Teddy indeed! What are you suggesting?"

"Only that I know how impossible it is to resist a beautiful Weasley woman," Harry murmured into her hair. "You've always had me right where you wanted me."

"I wish!" Ginny scoffed.

"You can have your way with me right now, if you like."

"With the entire family ready to burst in on us? Thanks, but I think I'll wait till we get home. When will that be, by the way?"

"Soon. This afternoon, in fact. I really need to get back to work. There are a lot of loose ends to tie up with this case. Kingsley's been generous, but I really can't impose much longer."

"Of course you can't," Ginny sighed. "But you're taking Thursday morning off."

Harry looked puzzled. "What's Thursday morning?"

"September first! We're taking James to King's Cross Station. He's leaving for Hogwarts, remember?"

"Oh!" said Harry.

In all the excitement he'd completely forgotten. And today was Monday so that was only two days away. Harry felt the same sinking sensation he'd experienced when the letter from Hogwarts first arrived. They'd only just gotten James back again and now he was leaving. But it was time for him to go. It was their job as parents to make him ready to go, and the past few days had certainly proven that they'd done something right. James could look after himself, at least in part, and when he needed them he would be back. He would always come back, just as Harry and Ginny, and all the other Weasleys returned to the Burrow each summer. Little birds left their nests, but they returned with little birds of their own. It was the way it was supposed to be. It was part of life. And life was good.

"Next year it'll be Albus," said Harry.

"And two years after that, Lily," Ginny said. "Then it'll be just you and me."

Harry lifted a strand of Ginny's hair and kissed the place just behind her ear that always made her smile. "You know, I think I can just about cope with that."

-----------------

_**A/N:**__ The Epilogue will include a return appearance by Blaise Zabini as James finally leaves for Hogwarts. Thanks to everyone for all your wonderful reviews. They mean so very much to me and I hope you'll let me know your thoughts on this chapter as well._

_**Special Note to Mimosa:**__ The accents you referred to in Chapter 16 are probably more of a "broad" northern dialect. Although I didn't do any specific research, I've read several literary works set in that general area and that's what I used as a model. My intention was really to convey a rough, unlettered quality which, in this day and age of mass media, is probably very uncommon, though in the wizarding world it might be more prevalent. I also wanted to thank you for recommending my story, as well as for your many thoughtful, detailed, and completely delightful reviews. I always enjoy reading them and greatly appreciate your loyalty. --Cassandra_


	19. Chapter 19

**THE LETTER**

_**A/N: **__I don't know whether to laugh or cry, but I'm sure I'll do a little of both when I finally hit the 'Complete' button on this story. Here is the conclusion of 'The Letter.' Be sure to read the extended Author's Notes at the end and, for the last time, please take just a minute to leave a review._

**Epilogue**

The morning of September first was cool, with the first hint of autumn which seemed to make everyone move a bit more briskly than usual. The Potters were no exception, for though they were far from late when they started out for King's Cross Station, James had been rushing everyone to get ready since the crack of dawn. He'd been unable to sit still all morning, and was chattering so vociferously that he didn't even notice when his father turned the car in an entirely wrong direction. But Albus, who was paying attention, called out from the back seat, "Dad, aren't we supposed to go the other way?"

"We have a quick stop to make," Harry replied, and minutes later he was pulling up in front of a handsome Georgian-style house which immediately disgorged Ron, Hermione, Rose, and Hugo.

"Cool!" said James as everyone piled into the car which had been magically expanded to fit a surprisingly large number of passengers in relative comfort. "I didn't realize you lot were coming along!"

"We wanted to surprise you," said Ron, who sat on James's other side with Hugo on his lap while Hermione flanked Rose and Albus. Lily sat up front between her parents, but peered into the backseat to beam at her cousins. "After all, James, you're our godson. We wouldn't miss seeing you off on the school train, would we, Hermione?"

"Of course not," Hermione said with amusement. "Besides, Rose wanted her father to learn the route so he'll be sure to get us there on time next year."

"You can never start too early," Ron replied virtuously. "Harry, Ginny, guess what? I've signed up for driving lessons! I'm going to take the Muggle driving test so I can drive Rosie to the station myself when the time comes."

"Driving lessons?" said Ginny, swiveling around to face him. "You?"

"Why do you say it like that?" asked Ron. "You don't think I can do it?"

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look over Lily's head and said nothing, but Ron surmised a great deal by their silence. "Oh, ye of little faith!" he exclaimed. "I'm a good driver, aren't I, Hugo?"

Hugo nodded loyally, but honesty compelled him to report, "Except for the time you crashed that bumper car at the Fair."

"You're _supposed_ to crash bumper cars, son," Ron pointed out. "That's what they're for."

"You managed to flip yours right over the barrier, though, didn't you?" said Hermione. "And making it levitate back in wasn't the best choice, Ron. I had to perform Memory Charms on half the people there!"

"Fairground rides aren't the same thing as actual driving," Ron said, with his ears nearly as red as his hair. "And I plan to work hard at it. I've already started revising for the theoretical portion."

"Dad won't take it seriously," said Rose. "He keeps making jokes when I quiz him on the Highway Code."

"Well, I ask you," Ron protested, as Ginny giggled and Hermione rolled her eyes skyward, "what sense does it make to memorize the shapes of a lot of different signs when all you have to do is read the bloody things? If it says 'Stop' you stop, right?"

"I may start using the Muggle Underground a bit more often," Harry commented.

"Thanks a lot," said Ron as everyone, even the children, laughed. "Nice to know I can count on my best mate for a little support!"

"I didn't mean it, Ron," Harry assured him. "I've no doubt you'll pass the exam with flying colors."

"That's right, I will!" said Ron defiantly. "Besides, if push comes to shove, I can always Confund the examiner."

"Ron," Hermione said, "either you do this properly or. . ."

"I was making a joke, Hermione. It was a joke!"

"See?" Rose said smugly. "He won't take it seriously!"

They arrived at the station minutes later. After finding a trolley and loading James's trunk onto it, with Nestor the owl hooting dolefully in his cage, they made their way inside and soon found the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

"Want me to go through with you the first time?" Harry offered, but James shook his head with typical brash confidence. After checking to make sure no Muggles were watching, he grabbed hold of the trolley and ran toward the barrier, disappearing from view instantly. Ginny followed with Lily, then Harry with Albus, then all the Weasleys came through, and there was the scarlet steam engine, partially obscured by thick, white steam. Ghostly figures moved about on the platform, but they quickly caught up with James who stood with his trolley next to Fleur and Victoire while Bill helped his sons lift their trunks onto the train.

"Well, little cousin," said Victoire in her best prefect voice. "I hope you plan to do your best to uphold the family honor. I'll be keeping an eye on you, you know!"

"How are you going to do that?" asked James, with a disparaging look at her Ravenclaw badge. "I'm not going to be in _your_ House!"

"No doubt," Victoire said dryly. "But prefects can take points from any House. So I'd advise you to be on your best behavior, young James."

"Be kind, Victoire," Fleur admonished. "'Eet ees only 'is first year at 'ogwarts!"

"Yeah, Vic, have a heart," Remy said.

"Don't call me 'Vic,'" Victoire replied. "And I'll thank you to show a little respect to your elders and betters, brat!"

"You surely don't mean yourself, do you, _Vic_?" asked Romy with a wicked grin.

Victoire turned to her father in despair. "Dad, you promised to talk to them!"

"Don't tease your sister, boys," Bill replied absently. "Hello everyone."

Before they could respond, a young man with bright blue hair came loping toward them. "Teddy!" James cried, running at him so fast he nearly bowled Ted over. "Did you come to see me off, too?"

"Er, yeah," said Teddy, with a quick look at Victoire, followed by a nervous glance at her parents. "Sure, James. Of course I did. Why else would I be here?"

"Why else indeed?" said Harry, as Ron smothered a laugh after a sharp jab to the ribs from Hermione. "Could I have a word, Ted?"

The walked a little way apart from the others. Harry pulled an envelope from an inside pocket with an impressive attempt at a straight face. Aside from his amusement at Teddy's discomfiture, he was brimming with the surprise contained in the envelope. In fact, he felt a bit like Father Christmas presenting a gift at holiday time.

"I thought I might see you here and brought this along on the off chance," Harry said. "You might find it interesting. It was approved by the Wizengamot just last night."

Looking puzzled, Teddy opened the envelope and read the letter inside. His face went red and his hair turned a brilliant gold.

"Order of Merlin?" he said, looking at Harry in disbelief. "But . . . how . . .?"

Harry grinned. "There's to be a presentation at the Ministry next month. I expect there are a few people you'll want to invite. Your grandmother, for one, and, er, anyone else you happen to think about. We'll be there, of course, with bells on." Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Ted!"

Teddy read the letter again as though a second reading might convince him. Then he looked at Harry and his expression went from stunned surprised to warm emotion. "This is your doing, isn't it?"

"The Minister proposed it," said Harry. "Although I did agree that it was very well deserved."

"It's your doing, all the same." Teddy held his hand out for Harry to shake. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry ignored the hand and hugged his godson instead. "Thank _you_, Teddy. Thank you for my sons."

They rejoined the others and congratulations erupted when Harry announced the news, seeing as how Teddy was still too thunderstruck to speak very coherently. James punched the air, Romy and Remy both slapped Ted on the back, while the younger children squealed, clapped, and danced round in a circle. Teddy's hair and face went more brilliant colors as the men shook his hand and the women embraced him. All except Victoire who simply gazed at him with shining eyes.

"That's wonderful, Teddy," she said. "I'm so proud of you!"

"Thanks," he said, staring at Victoire with an expression that mirrored hers. Then he remembered the children, who were all looking at him expectantly. Teddy frowned and cleared his throat a lot more loudly than was really necessary.

"May I escort you to the train?" he asked Victoire in an absurdly formal tone, as if the two of them had only just met.

Even Harry almost laughed out loud, but Ron made no attempt to hold back, despite another nudge from Hermione. "What's so funny?" asked James.

"Nothing, dear," Ginny said, with a glare at Ron and a frown for Harry who wasn't doing much better. Fleur was staring off into space, but her lips had a suspicious twitch about them, and Bill had turned away, seemingly fascinated by the steam rising off the train engine, though his shoulders appeared to be shaking slightly. The children, however, all looked as bewildered as James.

"That would be lovely, Teddy," said Victoire, apparently deciding to ignore her insane relatives. "The prefects' carriage is just this way." And the two of them moved toward the thick smoke until they were enveloped within it.

"We should go," Bill said to Fleur. "I have a lot of work piled up at the bank. You two," he said to his sons. "Behave yourselves. We'll see you at Christmas, all right?"

"Yes, Dad," Romy and Remy said.

"_Au revoir_," said Fleur, kissing both boys. "_Je vous aime, mes fils_."

"_Au revoir_, _Maman_," they replied. As soon as their parents left, Romy turned to the others and said, "Well, we're off to find a compartment before they're all taken. We'll save you a seat, James. See you in a bit!" And then they vanished too.

Ginny began reciting a list of all the things James should and should not do while Harry observed some of the other excited looking First Years. Without Albus to do his bidding, James would be needing a new second-story man, and Harry was wondering which of these hapless youngsters would be recruited for the job when he caught sight of someone familiar. He excused himself and strode across the platform toward a tall, black man in a dark traveling cloak.

"Potter," said Blaise Zabini, offering his hand for Harry to shake. "I thought I might see you here."

"I'm surprised to see _you_ here," Harry said, shaking the hand Zabini held out. "I thought you'd be at Hogwarts."

"Mother's funeral was yesterday," explained Zabini. "I thought I'd go back on the school train."

"I see," Harry said quietly. "I'm sorry. And I'm sorry we couldn't get the formula to you in time."

Zabini shrugged. "I don't know that it would have made a difference. She was much sicker this time. I doubt that even one of Claude's potions could have saved her."

"I'm sorry," Harry said again.

"Well, she didn't suffer much," Zabini said with a distant look in his dark eyes. "She went quickly."

Harry didn't know what to say, but fortunately he was spared the necessity by the arrival of Ginny and the children. "Hello, Blaise," she said. "I was so sorry to hear of your loss."

"Thank you," Zabini replied, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking instead at James, who grinned up at him cheekily, Harry was horrified to observe. "And this must be my new pupil."

"Yes, this is our son James," said Ginny. "James, this is Professor Zabini. He'll be your potions teacher at Hogwarts."

James's exuberant spirits were such that he appeared to have misplaced his manners, for he greeted his new professor with a cherry, "Hiya!" Then he caught the hideous look his mother was giving him and amended, "Er, that is, how do you do, er, sir? Er, Professor? Sir?" Which wasn't a whole lot better, Harry thought, heaving forth a lugubrious sigh.

"How do _you_ do, young man?" said Zabini without changing expression. He looked at Harry and Ginny, and lifted a brow ever so slightly. Harry shrugged and Ginny offered a sickly looking smile.

"Ought to be an interesting term," Zabini said. "Well, I should be getting along. If you'll excuse me." Then he too was swallowed up by the mist with a sweep of his long, dark cloak.

"He's a bit scary," said Hermione, who had come up behind them. "Isn't he?"

"Scares the hell out of me," Ron muttered. "Harry, doesn't he . . . remind you of anyone?"

"No," Harry said firmly.

"You're sure? Because he sort of reminds me of. . ."

"No!" Harry said, even more firmly. "He doesn't remind me of anyone."

Ron looked skeptical, but subsided at Harry's thunderous expression. "We'd better get you onto the train too, James," Ginny said. "Oh, look, there's Fred! The two of you can go on together."

Fred came running over and Ginny asked him, "Where are your parents?"

"They just dropped me off," Fred explained. "Dad helped me load my trunk onto the train, but they had to get back to the shop. Have you seen Romy and Remy?"

"They went to find a compartment," James told him.

"They'll have saved seats for us then. Come on, I'll introduce you to a friend of mine. He has a little brother starting this year. You never know, the two of you might get on."

"All right," said James, and for the first time he seemed a bit nervous. He looked first at Lily, who suddenly appeared weepy.

"Don't go, James!" she begged, hugging her brother around the waist. "I don't want you to go!"

"It's okay, Lils," James replied, hugging her back. "I'll be back before you know it. And you've still got Al to keep you company." But then he noticed that Al was looking a little despondent too. James gave him a light punch on the arm. "Hey, squirt. Look after Lily while I'm away."

"Okay," Albus replied dully.

"And look after yourself too."

"Okay," Albus repeated with even less enthusiasm.

"Next year it'll be your turn," James pointed out in a touchingly transparent attempt to lift his brother's spirits. "I'll write and tell you all about it. Then next year, when you come, I can show you around. Though of course I'm sure to be in Gryffindor and you'll probably end up in Slytherin."

This brought Albus out of his slump in a hurry. "No, I won't!"

"Sure you will. You're just the type they go for."

"I won't!" said Albus. "I _won't _be in Slytherin!"

"You'd better get on, James," said Hermione, leaning down to hug him. "Take care of yourself now."

"That's right, Jamie," Ron added, tousling his hair. "Say hello to Hagrid for us. And watch out for Peeves."

"Bye, Aunt Hermione. Bye Uncle Ron," said James, then looked at his parents. "Well, I guess this is it."

"I guess," said Ginny, and if Harry didn't know her so well he would never have noticed the way her eyes glistened. "We'll see you at Christmas then, darling."

"Sure thing, Mum."

"And please don't do anything in the meantime to make me send you a Howler."

"I won't, Mum."

James hugged his mother and turned to Harry. "Send Nestor to us once you know what House you've been sorted into," Harry said. "Write once in awhile. Let us know how you're doing."

"I will, Dad."

Harry hugged his son and watched as James started to walk away. "James!" Harry called after him. James looked inquiringly at his father. "We love you, son," Harry said.

James rolled his eyes at Fred as if to say, "Parents!" But he gave his mother and father a cocky grin and mumbled, "Love you, too," before jumping onto the carriage.

Harry shut the door behind him and Fred, as doors slammed up and down the train. The boys hung out of the windows, waving, and Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, with the four remaining children between them, waved back. Harry glanced at Ginny and both drew a deep breath at the same time. Ginny took Lily by the hand and Harry gripped Albus's shoulder, but just before the train pulled away a third year boy came up behind Fred and, seeing who he was waving at, shouted, "Sweet Merlin! That man! That man on the platform! Do you . . . do you know who he is?"

"Of course I know who he is," they heard Fred say. "He's my uncle."

"Your uncle?" said the boy in a voice of exaggerated incredulity. "How can he be your uncle?"

"He married my aunt, that makes him my uncle," Fred replied with irrefutable logic.

"But . . . But . . . Do you realize who he _is_?"

Lily had been following this exchange in bewilderment, then she saw the boy point to her father, who was making a concentrated effort to ignore the attention he was attracting. With a scowl eerily reminiscent of Ginny in a temper, Lily placed both hands on her hips and called out in a voice of righteous indignation, "He's Daddy!"

Everyone froze, then they all burst out laughing. Lily looked around, even more confused, then her lower lip pushed out. They were making fun of her! What could she have done to make everyone look at her that way? But Harry picked her up and hugged her tightly, even as he continued to laugh.

"That's right, Lily," he said. "You've got it exactly right. You know who I am, don't you?" Harry twirled her around in a circle until she was laughing too, and his next words were a roar of triumph, for he shouted them loud enough for everyone on the platform to hear.

"I'm Daddy!"

**THE END**

-----------------

**Author's Notes**

This story was inspired by a post-DH interview in which J.K. Rowling said, "Harry and Ginny are soul mates with a passionate connection." I don't believe I am alone in thinking we saw very little of either the passion or the connection in '_Deathly Hallows'_ whose ending left me feeling vaguely dissatisfied. Like millions of other fans, I wanted to know what happened during that infamous 19-year gap between "The Flaw in the Plan" and the Epilogue, so I began to try to fill in the blanks on my own. The result was _'The Letter'_ which has truly been a labor of love. I am a writer by trade, but normally detest the actual process of writing (though I adore having written!). This story, however, has been a joy from start to finish, and the main reason has been reviews from generous readers who have slogged through each chapter and then had both the grace and goodness to leave constructive criticism and glowing accolades which left me floating on clouds of bliss while driving me toward this conclusion.

This has been such a delightful experience that I will almost certainly write another fanfic at some point in the future. One is already in the works, a Christmas story which I've promised to the Reviews Lounge titled '_To Hear the Bells Ring'_ that deals with many of the same themes in this story. If you have me on your Author Alert list, you'll be notified when that story is posted, and I have a couple of other plot bunnies bouncing around that will probably develop into something eventually. In the meantime, I want to thank each and every one of you for your faithful readership. As for your praise, I can only bow in humble gratitude to the great J. K. Rowling for creating these wonderful characters in the first place. Whatever new vistas I may have opened up for Harry and his friends, I cannot and will not forget that these are Jo's characters and this is her world. I'm only visiting for awhile.

That being said, I have developed a few original characters for the purposes of this story and, in true JKR fashion, I've chosen their names with great care. For those who find such factoids interesting, all of my original characters and the meanings behind their names are listed below in alphabetical order (Oh, and BTW, Fleur's parting words to Romy and Remy at the train station mean, "I love you, my sons," which I figure she said in French to avoid embarrassing them. Boys, you know!):

**Claude Attor:** Attor is an Anglo-Saxon name that means 'venom.' Since Attor was an expert with poisons, this seemed appropriate.

**Calpurnia:** The history of Harry's secretary had little to do with the actual plot so I didn't include it in the story, but in my imagination, Calpurnia is the widow of a Ministry official who was killed by Death Eaters. Her reverent attitude toward Harry comes from gratitude to the man who brought down her husband's murderers. Calpurnia, as some of you have pointed out, is indeed the name of a character from '_To Kill a Mockingbird'_ (one of my favorite novels of all time). But it's also the name of Julius Caesar's third wife, a very proper, dutiful woman who, according to Shakespeare, had a premonition of her husband's assassination.

**Andora Dimbleby:** Andora comes from the Old Norse word Andor meaning 'eagle.' Andora Dimbleby, as you may recall (Chapter 6), is the new Head of Ravenclaw House whose symbol is the eagle. Dimbleby has no specific meaning, I just liked the sound of it.

**Fletcher:** Distant relative of Mundungus Fletcher, a petty criminal. Self-explanatory.

**Quinella Jones:** Quinella's name derives from two sources, a surname (Quinnell) that means 'counselor' or 'teacher' and a Middle English name (Quinilda) that means 'warrior woman.' Quinella Jones (Chapters 8 & 9) manages the Auror training program.

**Quincy:** No specific meaning. It's an English surname that simply means 'fifth.'

**Rowan Scrimgeour:** Rowan is the son of Rufus Scrimgeour whose first name means 'red haired' or 'red one.' The name Rowan means 'little red one.' Rowan is also a type of flowering tree whose berries are extremely bitter.

**Olga Weasley: **In addition to being a common eastern European name, Olga means 'fruitful' and Charlie's wife, who has borne five children and is expecting a sixth, is certainly that. Another source claims that Olga means 'saintly which any woman who marries into this large, confusing tribe would more or less have to be.

**Robert Wilkinson:** Wilkin is a medieval form of the name William. Wilkinson would be the son of William, which is what I imagine the first name of Robert Wilkinson's biological father to have been.

**Arachna Zabini:** Although not an original character, the name Arachna is my own choice. Arachna was a figure from Greek mythology who challenged the goddess Athena to a weaving contest and then hanged herself when she lost. In sympathy, Athena turned Arachna into a spider so that she could always weave beautiful webs. In selecting this name, I was thinking of a type of female spider that kills her mates, but when her spiderlings hatch they crawl onto her back and devour her. Now _that's_ motherly devotion (and I think Ron Weasley just fainted!).

One more name meaning you might find interesting: **Cassandra** was another figure from Greek mythology, a famous Seer who warned her fellow Trojans to, "Beware of Greeks bearing gifts." Nobody listened to her (story of my life!) so the Kingdom of Troy was destroyed by a gift from the Greek invaders, commonly known as the 'Trojan Horse.' A **Cassandra Cross** or **Cassandra's Cross** is a mark that palmists claim can be found on the palms of those who are born with a special gift for prophecy. And you can take that information any way you like.

Blessings,

Cassandra


End file.
